The Dead Of Winter

Like most, I assume, I loved snow as a kid. It brought about all sorts of possibilities that would get you a visit from a social worker any other time of year. Wanna pick something up for the sole purpose of throwing it at someone else? No problem. Wanna slide down a hill or roll around on the ground? Have at it. How bout building your very own man? Yeah, we got that too. Nowadays though I’m less enthusiastic, probably because the responsibility to move it outta the way, in a manner that doesn’t involve pelting passersby or raiding the vegetable drawer for decorations, falls on my head. Or shoulders, or back, or something with muscles that hurt afterwards. Still, I like to see snow at least once a winter though, ideally at a time when I’ve got no good reason to leave the house. So, you know, any time really.

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