Well, the end of February has arrived, and I'm left scratching my head at how much I've enjoyed this past string of months. I've always loved to come home, regardless of the season. But there's something so special about how the seasons transition into one another that is completely lost when you just touch down right in the heart of one. So to have landed in the thick of summer, then to have it slowly turn to fall, and then to winter, and now to watch winter begin its gradual change into spring has been nothing short of miraculous.
I guess all those years when I came home for Christmas and stuck around into the new year, I never got a chance to really understand how wonderful this season can be. I loved seeing family and friends, obviously, and I loved the random snowstorms that blanketed my world in a sea of white. But I abhorred the cold. Even the beauty of yesterday's blizzard soon turns to sleety, slushy blackness, stripping the snow of its purity. This was especially true when I spent so much of my free time within the confines of New York City during my all-too-brief returns. Now that I feel no such pressure, I've been able to linger in our suburban-on-the-cusp-of-rural paradise of Central New Jersey, where being far removed from the city's hubbub, our lease on fields of white snow can be extended by weeks.
And I guess it's quite ironic if you think about it, but the winter seems colder when it just starts the moment you step off a plane, without a nice, temperate autumn to lull you into it. And knowing that same plane would just whisk me straight back to Hong Kong's perpetual heat and humidity robbed me of the joyous arrival of springtime. So you better believe I'm savoring this year as much as I possibly can.
At the tail end of January, we even got a proper blizzard. Not only did the skies drop almost a foot of precious powder on our lawns, but we had one of the most essential elements that makes any snowstorm even more awesome: anticipation. The meteorologists giving us warnings for days - the snow is coming! - so although my sister gets freaked out by the waiting, I downright love it.
True, shoveling isn't the most fun thing in the world. But sledding down the hills of nearby Cheesequake State Park with my sister on our vintage Flexible Flyer? Walking through the wooded trails on the sunniest of days after the snowfall had stopped? Retreating into the warm house with a mug of hot cocoa? That's pure bliss and worth every shovelful of snow it took to clear our steep driveway.
I'm looking forward to the spring. There's no doubt about it. But I've also rekindled a love for winter that I always knew I had as a child but somehow thought I'd lost when I entered adulthood. I'm delighted to report that my affection turned out only to be dormant, not extinct.
