The softly falling snow lilts southward across the landscape, gently feathering its way downward onto the monumentous piles, further blocking site lanes at street corners. February has a tight hold upon the world, bitter, white and formidable. 
On the far distant horizon, barely a glimpse of spring can be imagined, past the gloom and grayness of the white world.

Winter is snuggling on the couch, a book's unbroken binding beckoning, the musky scent of beagle wafting from the carelessly tossed throw, a mug of steaming cider swirling with cinnamon paths cupped in cold hands, furry lined slippers waiting for toes to slip inside. 

It’s hot outside, a dry bakey kind of heat that takes your breath away when you step from the crisp coolness of inside across the threshold to the oven.

Summer takes on many forms:

· days like today that are reminiscent of the old Nestea commercials where the hot, hot guy falls backwards into a cool refreshing swimming pool as he takes a drink of the magical beverage.

· dreary thunderstorm ridden days where the booming of the skies and the flashes of lightening force everyone to seek cover inside.

· soft rainy days that beckon children outdoors to splash in puddles, building engineering marvels of rivers and deltas.

· hot days with just enough temperature to make the beach seem like a good idea without making you gasp for breath .

The common theme among all those days are the endless hours of light that make the days seem to stretch for weeks. When you awaken in the morning, the sun is already shining brightly, crooking her finger to call you outdoors. When the day wans and you lay down to sleep, the light still hovers on the horizon.

These days always make me look backwards to my childhood spent in Mississippi, with no air conditioning, playing outside, chasing in with the slamming of the wooden screen door, the buzz of mosquitoes in the air, the smell of the evening fogger machine as it snaked through the neighborhoods misting the world with its deadly weapon against the pests, homemade ice cream with tidbits of fresh peaches, miles of pedaling my bike, croquet in the yard with neighborhood kids, the rare treat of Choctaw Lake excursions where the murky lukewarm water felt like heaven and the dry crusty peanut butter jelly sandwiches tasted better than any caviar or filet mignon, a good book to curl up with when the heat overcame the power of youth, the magical nights my parents turned on the room sized air conditioner in the living room, them sleeping on the foldout sofa with my sister and I on 'pallets' (a pile of folded blankets) on the floor.

And I wonder about kids today.. with their video games and cell phones, air conditioning in more places than not... and I think what a waste of youth and adventure and imagination...