The snow started in the early evening, and kept on all night. Each time I woke up and rolled over, I'd look outside to see the pasture and trees gradually turning white, and the night growing brighter. At 7:00 this morning, I dressed and pulled on my boots and grabbed my cell phone and a ruler. Eight inches... that's a lot for us on this side of the mountains.
It was too dark for my Nikon, so the cell phone had to do. Not venturing past the patio, I snapped some pictures of the cedar trees, weighed down with snow and touching the ground, and dwarfing the well house. And the orchard from the kitchen windows, with every branch outlined in white, and the camellia bush looking as soft as a cotton ball.
Schools were canceled and people stayed home from work, and when we went out to find a cache this afternoon, the roads were deserted (except for the cars that had slid into the ditch). Our pond has flooded our road and backed up into the pasture, and the snow has stolen all the sound from the world, leaving only silence.
To me, winter isn't a season without snow. And just snow falling isn't enough. It has to snow long and deep, and stay around for at least a few days. Long enough for the roads to clear, and safe enough to drive around, so I can see all my favorite places dressed in winter white.