By the first week in January, we already had two snowfalls and with each one the luster had become less bright and the romantic “Dr. Zhivago” scenes were looking more like dented fenders from spin-outs and bad bruises from unwanted falls.
The little hill behind the house was tackled with gust and a sled, but by a couple of runs it didn’t look as inviting and the breath which was effortless in my youth was replaced by some wheezing and coughing (maybe I’m not as young as I thought).
As I sit looking out the window at another new snowfall, I am secretly wishing for the sun to break through and the wildflowers to pop up through the frozen ground. I’m subconsciously dreaming of warmer weather fit for hiking and biking but all the time thinking that winter has only been with us a couple of weeks even though our first snowfall came in early December.
And I’m worried about the groundhog this year. Maybe he’s frozen in his den and can’t even get out because of all the snow piled up over it. I’ve never heard what would happen to the weather if he can’t even get above ground, and I hope that won’t condemn us to perpetual winter.
So I guess the best thing to do is to make a hot cup of chocolate and look out the window to enjoy the snow knowing that this, too, will pass and spring isn’t that far away.
Editor’s Note: George Robertson is a physician with Family Medical Associates, PC, in Lebanon.