I used to say I liked winter. I still like parts of it, but not so much so close together. Especially on the days I must go to work. We had snow again last night. I suspect it was between two and three inches. That is not really a lot, but with the piles we have around it is much more work to get it off the surfaces we would like to clear.
After the alarm went off, I said, “You know what we have to do.”
“Yes,” Leroy replied, throwing back the covers and swinging his legs out of bed.
It was not so cold this morning, however Leroy still bundled up. When we got back in the house an hour later all he could do was complain about how warm and sweaty he was. He even had to sit for a while. I dutifully waited on him with a glass of water.
We had planned to just clear a path, but neither of us could stop once we were out. Seeing the end so close, we could not stop, but did it all. There is something satisfying about looking at the results.
I prefer my snows to come about once a week rather than every two days. The temperatures are stuck in the low zone. Seems no so long ago I was complaining about it popping up and down. At that point I thought we would just get used to the cold if it would stay more consistent. Now I am not so sure about that idea. It seems even crazy.