Bing Crosby dreamt of a white Christmas. I must admit that I'm guilty of this myself. Snow on Christmas completes the holiday. It's that elusive seasonal element that makes the day (which is normally pretty awesome to begin with) seem complete.
Snow is beautiful. When it's freshly fallen, it looks clean and soft. It muffles the noises that might otherwise become distractions to us. It makes things quiet. I have always thought snow was beautiful.
But what about after Christmas?
After traveling through the wintry weather, I understand why some people abhor the stuff. While it may seem innocent (and it's color might deceive us into thinking that it is), snow is nothing but a white nightmare (in some parts of the world, white is the color associated with insanity). It's nice enough when you are at home with electricity and heat and water. Then I suppose it's possible that snow might be enjoyable. But if you're stranded on an interstate or your electricity and heat are rendered useless by the weather or if you live in a place that is completely incapable of handling such weather-related extremities, the snow becomes unbearably oppressive.
I admit that I haven't seen as much of it as some people have this winter. And I am the first to admit that those are people of whom I am not jealous. But I don't think I would lament of not seeing this white affliction again any time soon. Luckily, I have the entire summer to recoup my appreciation for winter weather.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
-From "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"
by Robert Frost
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