Deus Ex Machina woke me this morning saying, "It's snowing."
I love the snow. I said it my first Christmas in Maine, and the natives scoffed at me.
"Just wait," they chuckled. "You'll learn to hate it."
I'm still waiting.
Don't get me wrong. I don't love shoveling, and I don't love driving in the snow. Snowplows on the road scare me, and I've had at least two snow-related driving incidents since I've been here - one that ended with a missing taillight when my rear end hit a utility pool after I spun off the road in a snowstorm.
But I love the quiet beauty of a snowstorm, and I love how the snow blankets everything with a clean purity, and how it muffles the noise of civilization. I love how, even in the middle of the night, during the winter, when the snow is covering the ground, everything is bright.
I never noticed how dark it is in my yard until the snow melted one spring, and I looked out and realized I couldn't see anything. And even though I wanted to plant my garden, I still wished, in that brief moment, for just one more night of snow.
As the seasons change, it's been an annual tradition to make cut-outs in honor of the transition. In the spring it's flowers. In the fall it's leaves (or something Halloween-related ;)).
This morning, when Deus Ex Machina woke me, I realized we have been so busy that we've forgotten our tradition. We cleaned the windows a few weeks ago, but didn't put anything back up.
This morning, I slowed the pulse of my busy-ness and cut paper - snowflakes to go on the windows.
I'm ready for the snow ... and after fifteen years of living and loving in Maine, I'm still not tired of it.