We had our first real snow flurry last week. And when people experience the first snow of the year, they have one of two reactions:
“YYYYYYYYYYYYYYESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” (This is the same reaction my nephew has over his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle birthday cake.)
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” (This is the reaction I have when the lady in the window seat needs to use the restroom for the fifth time during our redeye flight.)
For me, the first snow always brings a moment of excitement, and I’ll admit, I’m usually in the prior category. That is, until I look down and notice the calendar.
In Vermont, the first snow usually flies in October. And snow doesn’t belong in October. The ski areas aren’t open. It’s not beginning to look a lot like Christmas. It’s not cool to need a Halloween costume which goes with snow boots.
But, I wouldn’t be human if I couldn’t appreciate the beauty of the first dotted sky of the year. There’s joy in those few moments of big flakes which melt when they hit the overgrown grass.
I’m dreaming of a white Christmas. But certainly not a white Halloween. And so, I’ll scream on the inside with joy at the first snowflakes of the year. And then, I’ll hope the next flurry waits until the stockings are hung. I’m not ready to shovel my porch for trick or treaters.