In this summer heat, I’ve been dreaming of winter nearly every night this week. I always wake to sweat-soaked sheets and the disappointment of knowing that once again, reality has betrayed me.
I just want snow. I want the fat, fluffy, wet kind of snow that piles up on the doorstep and holds you hostage in your own home. I want the snow that falls like glitter in the streetlights and makes you happy to be alive. I want the snow that comes in sideways and knocks you on your ass, making you question your own Karma for the first time.
I want the kind of snow that people write songs about, the kind that sneaks up on you in the middle of the night and you can’t stop staring at while drinking your coffee in the morning. I want the kind of snow that people lose things in: phones, wedding rings, their sanity. The kind of snow that falls so evenly you feel guilty even walking through it to get to your car.
I want the kind of snow that you can make ice cream from, like when you were little, on days when the sky gifted you with an excuse to stay home from school. I want the kind of snow that covers strings of lights tangled in tree branches, December fireflies trapped beneath a blanket of frost. The kind of snow that some people never get to see in their whole lives, reflecting sunlight off its surface like unanswered prayers aimed in the wrong directions.
I want the kind of snow that makes you nostalgic for childhoods spent believing in the magic of the holiday season. The kind of snow you can make angels in, from the holiness of gravity and your own silhouette. I want the kind of snow that makes it easy to forget where you’re supposed to be in the morning, because for that moment, you’re just thankful to be where you are. I want the kind of snow that mends broken hearts and encourages forgiveness in the way that it makes falling look so easy.
I just wish it would snow, because there’s nothing like a blizzard to make my Ice Queen heart feel at home.