It was sixty-four degrees in Scranton yesterday. It was sixty-three degrees today, and it’s raining outside now. The odds of a white Christmas are looking pretty slim, and while I don’t mind avoiding snow – and moving it, driving in it, shoveling it – I do like the idea of a classical white Christmas. The kind I remember from my childhood in the Great Frozen North.
I looked back through some older winter photos and revisited favorites, falling in love with them all over again. Like this morning, at Fords Pond at sunrise. It was cold, with a bald sky, but it was worth standing at the end of the pier, my breath hanging in the air, to capture first light.
I should do this sort of thing more often. Once we get some snow, I should go back.