Cold Weather Is The Junkest

I’m no good in the cold. For awhile I liked it well enough, calling my sister to report every single snowflake we got that first year in the Northwest. We lived in the foothills of Hurricane Ridge, so you can imagine how many weather reports my sister put up with.

We got lots of the white stuff up in the mountains. It was beautiful, I’ll give it that. I loved watching fat, reckless flakes cover everything everywhere as I curled up like a cat next to our fireplace. I remember feeling happy about all that sky garbage. We hunkered down, just like hurricane season back home. Only we got to go out and make snowmen and then come back in for mugs of steaming hot chocolate.

It was all so novel, you know? Snow days.

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