It’s a wonderful time of year. Full of all things cozy and warm and the hope of snow. And even better than watching the snow drift down is the dreaming of snow days.
It’s the stuff of my childhood. And then for almost 20 years, I traded in winters for sandy beaches. They have their own sort of rugged beauty that has inextricably woven itself into the fabric of my journey. But being back in four seasons and snow makes me feel like a kid all over again. I’m the first one with my nose pressed against the glass, well almost, when there’s talk of snow.
And as soon as the roads are passable, Steve comes and whispers a winter invitation. It doesn’t really matter what list I may be running in my head at the time. It’s quickly abandoned and we hop in the car and drive.
Coffee is often involved. And gps. But the gps isn’t really needed until we’ve meandered throug all the twists, curves and side roads that looked even slightly promising. Then at some point, we pull out our phones and figure out how to get home from wherever we’ve landed on our snowy trek.
Steve always looks for good snapshots because he knows I’ll want to take some. And I do. Lots of them. Not really to do justice to the beauty of the moment, but more to enjoy the magic a little longer and to serve as a sort of reference point .
It’s a place to return to. Not a geographical place, a relational place. We’ve started new traditions with these new seasons in our marriage. This has already quickly become one of our favorite spots. This snowy date.
The snapshots may seem cliche. Maybe they are. To some.
But it’s more about the magic of seasons being captured anew. Seasons of the year. Seasons of marriage. Seasons of life.
And though these seasons, and snapshots, are revisited on a regular basis, they are decidedly not cliche.
Captured anew? Yes.