Love it when big, fuzzy flakes are falling outside the window and a strange hush falls over the world.
Hate it when it takes six hours to drive home from Thanksgiving, much of it stuck behind cars with drivers who don’t seem acquainted with the laws of physics and do things like slow down when they’re going up hills.
Love it when I’m the first one to leave footprints in a field of virgin snow and it squeaks under my boots.
Hate it when it takes twice as long to walk downtown because every sidewalk has been tramped down into a sheet of pure ice, and every step is a potentially painful argument between me and gravity.
Love it when it’s fresh and white and clean and fluffy and sparkly and the whole world looks like it’s covered in dessert topping and diamonds.
Hate it when it’s old and crusty and slushy and slick and dirty.
Love it when all normal routine stops and everyone plays like a little kid in the snow because there’s really nothing else to do.
Hate it when everything is closed, and all normal routine is difficult, dangerous, and cold.
Love it because it’s so novel and exciting, and everything looks different in the snow, mysterious, magical.
Hate it when it stops being an exciting novelty. I’m gonna say, three days. This is day three. Tomorrow, I’m gonna start to hate it.





