I hate winter but love the first snow of the year.
Why do I love the first snow of the year? Fair enough question. I live in the Twin Cities. If you’re not from here, you probably don’t realize how large they are, and you probably don’t realize how dirty they are. I’ve never been to New York City, or to Philadelphia, or to Chicago, but I bet my reasoning is applicable to them as well. I hate how dirty the cities get, and most of it is litter. The first snow falls and the discarded cigarette pack ceases to be a cigarette pack and becomes a bump in the snow. It becomes a bump the same way a rock or a pile of leaves becomes a bump. For a brief while (sometimes a long while), I stop passing judgment on the garbage and just look at the beautiful white landscape.
I grew up and have spent most of my life living in the Pacific Northwest, within an hour or so of the Pacific Ocean. We don’t get a lot of snow. I think it would be fair to say that we don’t even get snow every winter, not counting appreciable accumulation. So, the first snow brings with it a kind of child-like euphoria, that’s reminiscent of Christmas coming.
Plus, it’s not that cold for the first snow. The temperature hovering right around freezing is absolutely balmy compared to the sub-zero temps I know are coming.
