When I woke up early yesterday morning it was still dark, but the light through the window glowed softly, a dim pink-peach hue as though someone had put a gauzy scarf over the moon. And northerners know the meaning of that tell-tale light.
Snow.
It's still as exciting the first time around, although it happened the same time last year. And it stayed until March. No melting, no nothing, no green. Not even dull brown. Just white and gray and black for three solid months. I swore that my eyes couldn't handle that kind of deprivation again, so I'm already thinking about taking a vacation somewhere this winter.
And of course with the first snow fall, comes the first driving game of winter. I call it Dumbass Bumpercars. As in people who have lived in the Midwest their entire lives yet somehow fail to understand that those wonderful concepts of velocity, force, and friction have altered when there is a layer of ice on the ground.
But just when I think I don't want to live in Minnesota anymore, I think of this little ditty by Brandtson. Maybe snow and ice ain't so bad.
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