You have not been gone long enough for me to miss you.
It is October. It is not even Halloween yet. However, you are here, so much so that I walked to and from work with you falling on my head in the space of two hours this morning. “Go home,” they said. So I did.
Snow, I understand that you are useful and necessary to the health and well-being of the state. The farmers need you to fall so they have enough water for crops next year. The mountains need you to bring tourists who will spend lots of money while they’re here for ski or snowboard vacations. I even love you, sort of, because you allow for us to go snowshoeing and to pelt each other with snowballs and to make snowmen. You make everything beautiful for a few hours or even a few days. You quiet the city, muffling everything. You look pretty when you fall, sometimes, especially the ploofy kind of you.
However, I must object to your early arrival this year. I wasn’t finished with autumn yet. I admit, I have been kind of dreading you this year, and there was all sorts of evidence over the past month that you’d be showing up sooner rather than later. But damn, snow. Damn. October 27 (because you began last night, although you also showed up briefly last week, so I guess I could call it mid-late October) is before there should be snow. We haven’t even ended Daylight Saving Time yet. (I am going to be soooo bummed when we do, I mean, seriously, why can’t we stay on DST all year? We’re on “standard” time for less of the year than we are “saving” time, so what makes that standard? I hate short days and no light. Harumph.) It’s not Time Yet for snow days and slushy slurry that I have to wade through on my way to work and heavy clompy boots and thick coats. It’s time for pumpkins and leaves blowing around and tights with skirts. It’s time for pears and squash and candy corn. Snow means Christmas and New Year’s and and and…
You’re not listening, snow. Here I am, trying to be reasonable. If you could just hold off until maybe Thanksgiving, maybe, it would be allowable. You’re early, snow. I’m not ready to think about all the things that you bring in your wake.
It’s days like this that I miss California the most.