Spring is only a few short days away. It's currently sunny, near 70 degrees. And it was snowing, in the low-30s, with a dusting accumulating on the weary plants, only five days ago.
As I walked the dog in last weekend's late snow, I realized how walking in the snow is one of the most beautiful, reflective things in life. Snow was pounding the ground without making a sound. It stuck to my hair, clothes, eyelashes without weighing me down. If it had been a bit warmer and the snow had been rain, no one would've wanted to go out in it. But with the snow I slowed my gait, walked the dog around the building not once or twice but three times. When we got back inside I ran to the window, both entranced and exasperated by the ambiguity of it all, touching my fingertips to the screen to feel the icy cold shoot through my wrist.
Isn't that life? When it snows, when the timing is right, everything is perfect. When it rains, when the timing is just a bit off, we either don't pay attention or become irritated that our lives are inconvenienced by just a bit of wet.
The only time I like rain is when it's at night. I go to bed early, stare at the ceiling and let the sound drown out my thoughts. Only when it's convenient.