"Whore frost?"

The snow here is perfect.

Now don't take this casually. I've been around the block. I've experienced snow from a tiny village in the Czech Republic to the slopes in Colorado. I am always on a quest for the perfect snow, the perfect snowball. On my vacation this past winter my significant other made the mistake of getting into a snowball fight with me.

Big mistake. I usually like to be modest, but...I kind of kicked his ass.

Never get in a snowball fight with a Canadian.

But the snow here...it doesn't turn into ugly brown mush when it hits the ground. It has to be at least 5 degrees before it melts. It forms huge fluffy banks and dusts every surface. It's just the right consistency to be able to pick up a handful and let it cascade out of your mitted hand, but if you apply just the tiniest pressure, it packs perfectly into a perfect winter weapon. With the tiniest touch of wind, it sticks to all the trees, coating them in a hoarfrost that makes me want to walk up to it and touch it, because it looks so perfectly winter-wonderland-y that I feel like I'm in Santa's Village. It's like god's very own powder sugar that was sifted over the whole world.

I miss a lot of things about home, but the snow in particularly gives me pangs of happiness when I scoop up a clean patch in my mitts, scrunch it up and pop it onto my tongue, or when I make three-pronged footprints with my boots.

Yes, when I was little I did like to pretend I was a dinosaur.

Rawr.

(pictures are not mine. not any of them.)