Winter is not my favorite time of year. That honor goes to autumn. My adult winters are a far cry from my childhood when dreams of snow days, skipping school, and suiting up for an epic snowball fight across the neighborhood danced through my head as much as sugarplum fairies. Now, my wintry cynicism has been iced ten times over as I recall my five-plus hour frightening commute home from work through a blizzard. My car refusing to cooperate with simple tasks like starting. The as-dangerous-as-advertised "black ice" waiting to ambush unsuspecting pedestrians.
So, it comes with a surprising click of a link to read about how Scandinavians spend most of their days in an eternal winter. I too often forget the magic of winter. No, I'm not just talking about the spectacle of Christmas lights moving in time to TSO's Carol of The Bells. (Although, boy can I watch that at any point in the year). Spending five years up at Binghamton University seems to the closest I will get to living somewhere in Scandinavia: long winters, dark days, etc. Yet...when it snowed, I found myself taking night walks around campus. Bundling up, I trekked trough the snow and warm amber lights surrounded by the absolutely, priceless sounds of silence. Except the soft crunch of my boots, of course.