As children growing up in Milwaukee, my sister and I didn’t care what the weather was doing as long as we could play outside. Mom bundled us up in heavy coats with scarves, fuzzy earmuffs, snow pants, boots, double socks, and warm mittens, and we’d brave the cold to make snow angels in the backyard or build a snowman.

When we got older, we went sledding down the snow-packed hills in Whitnall Park or ice skating with our friends after school. Everyone hung out at the frozen pond.

Those cold winters in Wisconsin gave me the happiest memories of my childhood. Winter is still my favorite season.

If I Must Choose
by Dee Bowlin

When pondering which season suits me best,      
the choice seems too impossible to make,      
for springtime rains bring life to barren ground
as tulips lead parades of sweet bouquets. 
Then summer barrels in with heated zest
and hammocks find two shade trees by the lake.
When pumpkins rule the fields and mums abound,
it’s fall that turns my head with leaves ablaze.

In wintertime, when seeds of nature rest
beneath a crystal quilt, each mastered flake 
of snow falls to the earth without a sound
and peaceful introspection fills my days.

Surrender to this tranquil slower pace
brings books and fleece as embers warm my face.
The cleansing cold of winter takes first place.

When I retired and moved to the Roanoke Valley, I knew I would enjoy the glory of all four seasons, but I was most anxious to see the snow upon the mountains. My dream came true my first winter in Virginia. One snowfall dropped twenty-two inches! My car was buried in the apartment complex parking lot. It turned out to be a playday when all the residents came out to help each other clean off the cars and throw a few snowballs. The apartment staff quickly cleared the parking lot, and the City of Roanoke plowed the main streets, and life went on as before.

The snowfall was as beautiful as I had imagined. The snowflakes fell straight down so gently and silently—no blustery winds blew them sideways creating impassable drifts. The mountain tops were glistening white, and the trees sparkled in the afternoon sunlight—an incredibly lovely sight.