Oddly enough, the one thing I dreaded about making the cross country trip in January was the possibility of missing a snow storm. I am one of the vocal few who love winter, love the snow, love the cold. Yes, I said love. Don’t curse me out. I don’t do the Calvin snow dance—at least not anymore—I just simply revel in it dropping from the sky. As an adult, it always comes at the wrong time—work, children, or what have you interrupting any kind of solitude it may bring. The least I can count on is shoveling out after a decent fall. If it’s enough, I get the burden of being a parental escort to the nearest park for some downhill sledding. Needless to say, this past week has been ripe for the picking, and every other day or so has brought on a little forced labor and a few speedy descents. So as the little minions run through the drifts, I will pile the banks a little higher and wait for the next storm.—Dominick
Just stunning, feels surreal.