"The sun a spark, /hung thin between/ the dark and dark" -John Updike

I've just discovered which sons' arms have outgrown their coat sleeves.

It's definitely winter in upstate New York. Updike's words above are barely exaggeration here, where the sun really is a spark, or a low flame, at least. The highway construction cones will finally be put away, with the exception of a few strays here and there that will emerge in the spring, popping up like crocuses when the sun melts. I drive to and from work in the dark, a trip which is shorter than the time it takes for the heat to kick on. And what the heck did I do with that snow scraper, anyway?

My neighbors will soon disappear into their houses, and by the time they reemerge, many will have more or less children. We wait longingly for that first tranquil snow fall, which we hope arrives in time to make the Christmas decorations look good. After that, just about everyone under the age of 12 wants it all to melt away until next year.

But that will not happen. Oh no. It will pile up endlessly, mercilessly, until there is nowhere left to put it. We will shovel and scrape, push and shove, play and pray, but the snow is tenacious. Snowplowed piles in shopping mall parking lots literally do not completely melt until June. By February I will feel as if I can no longer see color.

Already I am lamenting, and the big stuff has not even begun. We haven't had a real big snow storm. In the pool at work to pick the first snow day, I have December 19th, so cross your fingers for me. But honestly, the big, stay-in-your-house snow days are kind of fun. It's the everyday, wet, cold, slushy, gray, don't-see-the sun-all-day endlessness that I could do without.

Sigh.

Send me some sunshine!