The past few winters almost killed me. This is strange for someone who used to name winter as her favorite season. I thought much of this was because of my living situation. Chicago winters are, let's say, brutal. That may be a little kind.
This morning in Drake, I awoke to snow covering the valley. My breath escaped me, and the first thing I thought to do was rekindle an old tradition of mine, one I hadn't done in the last few winters. I ran out into the yard, barefoot, with the dogs and wrestled with them in the fresh powdery snow. After a few minutes, we bolted back inside to the warmth of the stove and coffee that escaped my attention over the last few days. As my feet and toes regained feeling, I thought about how much I missed winter, this kind of winter, not the dingy horrible mess Chicago calls a winter.
I believe one of the main reasons Chicago's winters are so terrible is that the majority of people don't find ways to enjoy it. This attitude passes along like a bad flu virus. It infects everyone around until by the end of winter, Chicagoans are ready to kill. Couple that with the traffic messes, the long waits for CTA, and the lack of space for snow, and it's no wonder most people in Chicago hate winter.
Now, I haven't been here long, but it seems to me folks here in Colorado are anxious for winter's coming. I hear people excited about skiing and snowboarding, snow-shoeing and sledding. I smile as I drive by people working on their snow machines. I imagine the blustery thoughts running through their heads.
All these images remind me that winter is fun, and indeed my favorite season of all. I'm glad to be home.
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