Home Planet: Wonders of winter are frozen in time

The air was so cold my face hurt.

“Ugh,” the woman beside me said as she stepped over a pile of frozen, sooty slush at the corner. “I am so tired of winter.”

I smiled and nodded. It was still morning – I hadn’t even made it to the office – but I’d already heard one or two others say the same thing as we stood in line for our morning cup of coffee.

Each time I made polite, sympathetic small talk, but I wasn’t quite honest.

The truth is that in spite of snow, the icy steps, the potholes, the lost days of school and now the thawing, slushy mess pooling around my house, I haven’t had enough.

I’m not a snow sports enthusiast. I don’t ski or snowmobile or ice fish.

But I still love winter.

Summer is fun. The grass is green and the sun is hot and high in the deep blue sky. The days are long and the pace is slower.

Fall is beautiful; golden and fragrant. It’s a beautiful season but it always feels too short.

Spring in this part of the country is too subtle for me. Flowers are slow to bloom and quick to fade. I miss the showy azaleas of the South.

But winter arrives early and settles in. Winter comes and stays until it is good and ready to go. And when it goes it does so slowly, dawdling at the door, taking its time, saying goodbye gradually. A few steps away and then back. Another retreat and then one more handshake.

Winter, laughing at our snow tires and our overcoats and our plans, gets its way. You can’t fight it. Winter always wins.

A day or two after the first big snowfall, two of my daughters – with one of the dogs running ahead, straining at his leash – walked with me to the park. It was dark and everyone else had gone home to hot chocolate or a hot meal.

We hiked across the gardens, through knee-deep snow, until we reached the hill. My youngest girl dropped the sled onto the ground, threw herself on it and away she went. The ride, she announced, was perfect.

One after another we hurtled down the hill and then lugged the sled back up.

On my last ride, I went faster than ever. I flew down the sledding hill and landed in a deep drift. I’d plowed deeply into the snow and it was down my collar, in my eyes and mouth and under the cuff of my gloves.

Still laughing, I rolled away from the sled, onto my back, and looked up at the sky above me.

Deep lavender-gray clouds scuttled across the sky, the tall trees silhouetted against them. The girls and the dog were tired and were sitting nearby and the only sound was the muffled sound of snow falling from the tops of the evergreens, hitting one branch after another before landing on the ground with a soft thud.

I didn’t move. I just lay there and let myself feel the coldness of the air on my face and the wetness of the snow that was beginning to melt and slide down my back.

I surrendered. I let the moment freeze in my mind.

When spring blows through and the last of winter melts away it will be nice to put up my boots and scarves. The sun will feel so good.

But there will come a time, in the hottest, driest part of August, when I’ll drop into the hammock, or onto a patch of lawn and stare up into an endless sky so wide and deep you could disappear in it. That’s when I’ll take myself back to the snow, to heavy pregnant clouds and a world covered in a blanket of white.

And a perfect winter night.