I think it is funny that there is no cool or cool nickname for December. March it is said can come in like a lamb or a lion. Whichever it chooses to arrive at, it leaves as the other. December is the transition into winter. But it more truly is the time between holidays. Lots of cultural and religious flowing from November to December. It is the time of snow. Last night as I relaxed in front of a roaring fire I listened to the weather forecast.
Snow, from New Orleans to Maine. A huge storm. Part of me wished all that moisture could suddenly shift direction and head out west where the wildfire and nearly pandemic. Snow falling from the sky does a great job of putting out fires. Snow also does a great job of covering the wounds left by the fire.
In this case, the snow in Greenwood Indiana. From the backyard of our house. There is a moment when you awake to see the snow spread across the lawn. Pristine and quiet, getting up in the morning long before my family does normally, I would ponder that quiet serenity for a time. Sipping coffee and watching the world covered in white. Perfect. Until Gwen and Fran would go outside and make tracks in the snow searching for everything that wasn’t there.
Still, it was a moment, a slice of quiet. In a house with lots of people such as what ours has always been, it is nice at times to have the quiet.