I miss snow. There. I said it.
I could also add with a snicker, that I appreciate a good nine inches, but I won’t.
It’s late October in South Florida. It’s still touching, if not hitting with both fists, the 90’s, and I am exhausted by the extreme heat. I am sweating before I can enter a store from the parking lot. I never feel clean, especially “down there”. The house never quite cools (one of the perils of a flat roof and young trees that don’t provide enough shade). So, when I see snow falling on The Weather Channel in some state I’d rather take a public floggin than reside in, I get mad.
Know this: I do not miss wading titty-deep into snow to fetch my morning newspaper. Or the shoveling. Or the salt. Or falling (a new peril now that I am verifiably in my 50’s). Or Winter’s caked detritus encasing the lower 1/3 of my car. Watching tree branches snap under the weight of an ice storm….road slide-offs…air so cold your exhale lodges in your lungs and removes to budge…I yearn for none of those.
But I miss steady, silent snow. More, I miss the change of seasons. Florida veterans insist we have those, and I see evidence. Some foliage sheds. Lawns slow and lose their effervescent green. The average temperature will, at some point, drop, and the threat of Hurricanes will dissipate into recycled reminder footage of Michael. The sun shifts and I am again receptive to an adult beverage on our screened porch.
But it never feels like Winter. I am not unaware that is why many relocate here: to escape the darkness and extreme weather of November-March. Christmas shopping always feels off-kilter (even though, contrary to popular belief, most retail Santas don’t wear shorts or sunglasses in South Florida decor).
It’s a conundrum. Life itself is based around cycles — restfulness, resurgence, quiet, cataclysm — and it feels as though I am robbed of that dormancy. Every day should NOT be a party or at least receptive to one due to climate. Sometimes, it’s nice just “to chill”, and down here, that never seems to happen.