I am a Michigander, born and raised. I am not intimidated by extreme weather, even if it sometimes wreaks havoc to the most carefully laid plans. I love that we get to experience all the seasons here, even if sometimes it feels like they will never end. But the year is marching on, and winter is fading fast.
I love the first delicate flakes of late Fall. The highly-anticipated, short-lived few.
Light dustings of fine powdery snow that give away the secret wanderings of other unseen lives.
I love fluffy midwinter snow, especially on windless days. Falling, swirling, clumping. Making a dimpled blanket that covers the gray slush splatter from salted roads. Clinging to tiny branches, roadside weeds, power lines. Building impossible towers of snowflakes on every tiny exposed horizontal surface.
The glittery, wind-swept formations.
The tiny worlds of frost that bring wonder to even the most excruciatingly cold of winter days. Imperfect windows harboring magical patterns of ice in miniature.
And, eventually, the melt. Luminous, patiently-formed icicles slowly drip-drip-dripping away until they ultimately succumb to their inevitable transience. Those last hills of crusty, dirty snow surrounded by Spring.
The smell of ice and earth, life stirring after the freeze, ready to burst forth in glorious color to shock us out of our snow blindness.
Breathe in. Savor the stillness, the empty air, the cool fingertips… banking these moments in my mind for the days of unrelenting summer heat.