I love snow. It helps a lot that I live somewhere where snow removal is handled by others. (I'm referencing the building here, not the city.) But I love watching it fall, feeling like I'm inside a snowglobe. I love the softening effect it has, that everything feels quieter. (Until people break out the snowblowers.) I love the way everything looks, dusted with snow. I love watching the odd shapes it creates.
I went out yesterday even though it had been snowing for about twenty four hours at that point. But the buses were running and the store where my book club is was open so I went.
Amusingly (now, because we all made it home safe) they stopped the buses about two minutes after I arrived and suggested folks take metro, which, yeah, would that I could. But of course, I was lucky, I was figuring out how to get home at sevenish, not later when many of those stores and restaurants that stayed open in the weather released their employees. Things had definitely gotten a little more treacherous, and all the signs were there for this morning being a big icy mess, so glad that most people seemed to have gotten a snow day today. And thinking extra warm thoughts for the folks who's businesses are counting on entertaining and feeding those with snow days today. And of course first responders, hospitals, care homes, and many other places stay open rain or shine.
So I love snow, but in many ways I am able to from a position of privilege. And I try to remember that too.