Right around this time of year, something profound happens. Like clockwork, Mother Nature shifts her calendar and treats us to the majesty of the season’s first snowfall. With it, comes a change in our thinking, giving insight into one’s personality.
Some of my friends will wail and bemoan the arrival of yet another snow season, five to six months of shoveling, scraping, slipping and sliding. Others will jolt with eager anticipation of snowmobiling across the countryside. And others will reach for their credit cards, as another holiday shopping season is here.
As I watch the faint mist of flakes slowly fall to the ground, barely enough to cover a blade of grass, I grow nostalgic. I vividly recall childhood excitement of the wondrous holiday season just ahead, of sleds and snowmen, and grabbing a handful of snow to shove into my mouth – even when my mother said not to.
I am reminded of the passing of time and of people no longer with us, sad that they are gone, but glad that they will never be forgotten.
The first snowfall is an emotional time for me, a strange cloudy mix of memories. But most of all, it is a reminder of how beautiful the world can be if I look at it with innocent eyes, and how lucky I am to be here to observe it.
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