Why is it that the first snowfall of the season always brings with it the romanticism of the season and memories fated to remain forever in the past? As I sit at the computer this chilly November morning with my lukewarm cup of coffee, I stare at the fresh coat of snow outside. It covers everything- the ground, my car, the leaves that have yet to fall, the roof of the diner across the street. Its presence brings a certain warmth, the promise of Christmas, but that's not all. For me it brings romance, it brings desire, it promises passion.
Now I am not a winter girl, which leads me to wonder why I have lived in New England my whole life and refuse to leave it, but the first snow always seems to take my breath away. It brings all these promises with it that I can't describe or begin to explain to you. The first place it brings me back to is college. I remember each flake sparkling as it fell, wrapped in the spotlight of Alumni Hall. I remember walking with a colleague who loved to push me into snowbanks any chance he got, falling with me every time and never failing to do so without a slight grin on his face. I remember being hailed across campus because of my signature red pea-coat, which no one failed to miss as I traversed to class and back and forth to the library.
The snow brings it all back, that feeling of cold wrapped in warmth, the blizzard whipping around outside while the fire blazes at home. Christmas with the family, snowmen in my youth, baking cookies, peppermint coffee- these are all promises that the season makes us. Now, by the end of winter I am ready for a break. The harsh reality of cleaning off my car at seven in the morning or being stuck in a parking lot of people who can't handle the snow becomes more than annoying. The holiday crowds, the pushing people, the Nor'easters, by January first I am ready for the spring. But I always find the first snow of the season to be magical; it's like we're all children once again, itching behind our small school desks ready for release, ready to taste the flakes on our tongues, ready for the hot chocolate waiting at home, ready to bundle up in our snowsuits, ready to go sledding. That feeling is still ripe in the air, ripe for all to pick up on.I'm sure I will forget this post in a mere matter of minutes once I am outside scraping the snow off my car, trying to get it to move over the snow mounds that the plow so kindly shoved around it overnight; however, I think it's important to capture the magic of a season in words. The snow marks waves of nostalgia for me, longing for youth, longing for college seemingly long gone now, longing for the innocence that the white, sparkling flakes seem to bring. The snow makes silent promises to me every year. It brings back the past and with it, remembrance of a time long gone.