Today it hit 47*F insuring that any frozen sky-fall of yesterday would melt and be washed away. We had no ice nor even slush left by late morning when Mary and I left the house. The city, fog filled and lovely, seemed more amidst an early spring day than the height of the cold season.
I miss the snow. I’m decidedly in favor of temperate zones. I like variety, I like the cold and I like a harvest. I find too much of any one season monotonous, save fall, my favorite season, which in itself is more a transitional period than one capable of long duration sustain.
I like the cold, when being inside seems like a privilege instead of a prison sentence, when the cats, especially the fatter two, become affectionate and shift from hiding to sleep on mine or Mary’s feet and heads.
Given my enjoyment of the cold one can imagine my displeasure with global warming. We haven’t had a proper winter in years. There’s a lot one can do to combat its effects, the simplest two being to paint one’s roof white and to plant trees wherever possible. Difficult to plant in the winter. So an immediate end to climate change being out of the question I’ve simply to wait and look forward to the few cold days modern PA winters have to offer. Two are coming this week. We might actually see some snow and some real cold.
I look forward to at least one snow storm each year during which I’m trapped inside, warmed by liquor and fire and freed from the demands of outside existence such that I can spend the day reading, writing and planting without reproach or sense of impending demands.
As pretty as today’s fog was, I want snow.
I want winter to come.