Snow.

I miss snow. I miss the sharp, sparkling smell when you inhale on mornings after a fresh snowfall or when hoarfrost coats the twigs of oak trees in the front yard. I miss trudging through soft powder. Crunching on hard, packed snow on the driveway; crunch crunch crunch. I miss twinkling Christmas lights reflecting off of glittery snow on late nights returning home after dinner with family. I miss taking off Sorels and tiptoeing around the puddles caused by remnants of ice stuck to the rubber soles and running to the kitchen to make Carnation hot chocolate and curling under a fleece blanket near the fireplace that Dad has piled logs into as the peppery-sweet smell of burning birch and poplar and oak logs curls around the living room. I miss watching the deer run into the trees when driving home at night, leaving soft hoof prints in the snow, circling around the house and the apple tree in the backyard where they eat the fallen birdseed with the fat rabbits, pawing in the snow. I miss tobogganing down a slippery hill at the cabin, tightening the fasteners on my snowboard around my boots. Curling my hands up in damp mittens and drying them over the woodstove while sipping on the never-ending pot of coffee that is always brewing in the "goblin-green" kitchen. I miss mornings when you can't see the lake because of the snow, and the falling snowflakes piling up centimetre after centimetre on the deck railings. I miss the smell and colours of blue smoke when the snowmobiles are started up. I miss moose slippers.


Deer outside Mom & Dad's window, Boxing Day 2008. Cervaza was watching it intently.