It's hard to believe that a week ago there was no snow. Today there's not much either, just filthy slush on the sides of the roads and melting snowmen carcasses in our neighbors' yards. People are emerging from their homes and life is returning to normal, minus a tree limb or two.
Having grown up on the east coast, I love a good snowstorm - the preparation and anticipation, the first flakes, the accumulation, the bundling up and exploring, sledding, snowball-throwing, snowman and igloo-building, then returning home to hot chocolate and snuggling by the fire. I like hearing the silence of no cars and seeing my neighborhood under purple-grey skies, blanketed in white with tree branches and leaves encased in ice. It's a surreal and beautiful break from our normal day-to-day routine.
And now, thankfully, it's over. Just in time too because cabin fever was starting to set in and we were running low on milk and eggs. There's only so much surreal and beautiful a person can take before they start yearning for normalcy again.