expectation

I feel like a small child on Christmas Eve- waiting, dreaming, drifting. The first snowfall of the season is supposed to happen very soon in these early a.m. hours. I want to be excited about it now because soon I know I will frown the icy crispness as I am forced to leave the warmth of my covers and head for morning classes.

To say that I am unaccustomed to a Winter season would be an easy answer, however nearly 3 years ago I lived for a spell in the Himalayan mountains of India. I arrived at the brutal end of winter (mid-late January), experienced near frostbite, and then enjoyed the loveliness of Spring and Summer (then, oh the joys of Monssoon) in the mountains. So I know that this coming winter will arrive and will leave in a similar non-dramatic fashion. One day, I'll look up and realize that the sun seems wonderfully bright today and wonder how long it's been there.

I would like to go into this with that awe, that level of expectation. I will be able to make a snowman and have a snowball fight with fellow classmates from South America, India, Mexico, Russia, China ... okay, well my Russian friends might think we are all a bit odd for being so enthralled with this cold, white, fluffy substance that though falls from the sky, will actually stay on the ground.

I would much rather find myself sitting on the floor, in front of the window, gazing blankly, waiting for little white particles to become visible (while listening to Christmas music, of course; it seems only natural). Otherwise, it's far too easy to find bits of misery to focus on.

My first potential White Christmas, I eagerly await thee. Please don't disappoint.