This photograph is of the shore of Lake Vermillion in East Central Illinois. Snow for them comes mostly in late January and February. Christmas is usually not white, but everyone with any sense owns a show shovel, gloves and a pair of jumper-cables.
Looking at the snow is not only refreshing on such a hot and miserable day where my air conditioning is barely making any headway, but there is an aire of innocence about such a scene, an element of purity.
This is me and my younger brother M. He's the little blue smudge on the left side that looks like a snowman, wrapped in a snow suit, scarf and white show boots that were too big and reached almost up to this thighs. He's probably wearing a pair of socks over his mittens to keep his hands extra warm. If you look close you can see the stick he's holding. We taught him to poke the ground with the stick as he walked, sometimes the snow would drift high and freeze over. A few steps in and you'd break through up to your hips in snow. For him that was over his head.
I was, of course, teaching him to make snow angels and my stepfather took the picture as I was attempting to get up without ruining my angel. Thanks Dad.
I doubt Z will have much opportunity to make snow angels, snowmen or snow forts. He'll probably barely have the chance to hurl a snowball. Sort of sad, really. My SO would not agree. The Floridian hates to be cold and wet and what is snow but cold and wet? Oh the fun he'll likely miss. Going to a ski resort just isn't the same as walking out your front door into a winter wonderland.
Of course, at present Z's largest concerns at the present time are how to get past the barriers mom has put between him and the entertainment center (CD's are fascinating) and convincing mom that chicken is ucky and should be permenantly removed from his menu. (Yes, that is his Jesus doll, a gift for his baptism. I believe he's taking the chicken issue to a higher authority.)