I know, I know. I said there was nothing good about winter. After all, I’m cold-blooded, or as Toyb says, endo-thermic. I don’t sustain my own body heat; I extract it from my surroundings. So come winter in Boston, I freeze. This is all still true.
And, yet. Here I am, in January, shivering, and appreciating this crazy season! What happened? Well, it snowed, again. And actually, there is something quite magical about it. Watching the snow falling is something I will probably never get used to. It’s just such a novelty. Like, wow, what’s that white powdery stuff falling from the sky?! So on Monday, when it had stopped snowing, I dared to venture outside and see my city transformed into wonderland. And I did what every good Californian would do: I took pictures. After all, the best lesson I ever had in photography came from my mother, who told me, "when you go some place new, look around and observe what in your surroundings tells you that you’re not in LA."
And the thing is, a few days later, the magic hasn’t quite worn off. I know it will this weekend when the temperature drops and the snow turns icy. And at that point I will return to my visceral hatred of winter and cold. But today, as I was walking home, I purposefully stepped off the sidewalk and into the snow. I know people were looking at me funny. But hey, it was still dry and fluffy and virtually untouched, and that feeling of walking on cloud puffs is so strange and irresistible. Like, totally!