Late last night the first little flakes of sparkling white ice fell onto our little piece of Salt Spring Island. This morning, the tree branches, roofs, and ground is covered in a layer of soft, cold freshness.
As much as I hate the cold, I really do love snow. Maybe not when I’m driving in it, or trudging through 40 below temperatures in Alberta, but there’s something so eerily peaceful about snow that really fills up my soul.
There are a lot of found memories I hold with snowfall playing a central role. Building huge tunnels of snow in our childhood yard. Tobogganing after opening presents on Christmas. Holing up inside as a child, I have memories of being alone in the early mornings, sitting on top of the warm air from the heaters, letting it fill my nightgown as I wondered up at the blinking and twinkling of the Christmas tree lights. Quiet. Peaceful.
Although my memories of snow as an adult are somewhat heavier laden with the frustration and discomfort of careful driving and bundling and shoveling, there are still some powerful snowy memories here, too. A late night wandering adventure with my sister through the dark world of small town Okotoks, lit up with magic by the snow. Snowshoeing Mt. Seymour with my love. Strolling along through the surprising piles of snow with our newborn, the intense post-snow sunshine making everything sparkle.
The cold and magical season of winter is upon us, even if it’s not technically due for another month. Time for cozying up, drinking warm teas and hot chocolate, feasting on comfort food, and building new memories with my own little family.