A sight of the first snow of the year, not matter how little and
evanescent, had always enliven my mind with a sense of wakening
spirits and imminent adventures.
The immediacy of the first snow so determinedly ushering the incipient
winter is unique among seasons; there is no such a resolute phenomenon
that harbingers the spring -- temperatures creep up slowly, one never
knows when the last snowfall of the season is going to hit, and even
thawing doesn't happen in one day. The upshot is, the spring never
happens overnight, and the winter does on the day of the first snow.
With my welcomingly eager impatience for new things (which are simply
well forgotten old ones) and a need for instant satisfaction, I would
take a day of the first snow over weeks of muddy puddles, longer
daylights and sharpening mating grievances.
Yet there is the Fall. Lovely, colory and soulful, it invariably puts
me into a reflectively introspective mood often bordering on ennui and
hibernation. Having said this, the Fall solitude precipitates
creativity. The Winter, however, puts a tinge of blithe insouciance on
the introspection and creativity. I manage through the Fall's blues
looking forward to the first snow with alacrity for the winter's first
day.
What can be better waking up seeing the world changed overnight -- it
stirs, challenges and whets, all at once. Blues are over, winter rocks!
