Large Fierce Mammal

The year I got my first coveted pair of snowshoes for Christmas, we had over half a meter of snow on the ground before school closed for the holidays. I was stoked! Then the rain and springlike temperatures came, starting Christmas Eve and persisting until all the snow had melted. I recall watching it vanish from our backyard with a sad and pathetic snowman as the benchmark. Looking out boxing Day morning, the yard was bare and all that was left of him was a nub the size of my head. He’d been taller than me.

Still the rain fell. In an hour he looked like a cup of grey slush. The rain fell harder. The wind blew warmer. When he was finally gone, still the rain and wind persisted another hour; I felt, just to be sure my hopes were dashed.

And then the wind changed to the north, the temperature plummeted, and winter became a snowless deep freeze until spring couldn’t stand it any longer and stepped in to put an end to the shenanigans.

A year later, the forests were denied to anyone on foot who didn’t have snowshoes or cross country skis. I was in my element, and the Forest Spirits laughingly whispered that last Winter wasn’t about me at all.

The present one either, come to that.