Land of Salt
I think people tend to idealize winter when they are not actually experiencing it. I, as many people know, am not a fan of winter. Ever. But even I tend to look at this 6-month-long season though a haze when I'm lost in the loveliness that is summer. Winter's not
that cold, I think. Winter's not
that windy, and dark, and depressing. What I tend to forget is that by February, everything has become the colour of salt.
Driving downtown and back this past weekend made me realize this. We had a thaw a little while ago, and rain, and then everything froze again. There are no great heaps of white snow, only gray little lumps hiding in ditches and covering fields. Old, rotten ice lines the sides of the road, like scum. The sky is overcast, and as bright as concrete.
Cars have all become one colour. Salt drips down blue and red and green paint, stains black and white paint, coats tires and trim, until everything is a nothing colour, a colour that is not gray or tan or white, but something of all three.
It is snowing again, lightly but steadily. I hope for a few hours in the morning when everything is again blindingly white, before the nothingness of salt returns. And, more than that, I hope for spring.
