Most people dread Winter. They hate the frosty air that greets them in the morning, and how it seeps in to their bones at night. The skeletal hand of ice that forlornly reaches out to them is a nightmare that should be avoided. When the snow comes, they welcome it only because the pictures they could take of the delicate white, would fit their Instagram feed. Or, they hope it will make people think they have a life that is Tumblr worthy. I am not like this. I don’t dread Winter; I count down the days until it comes. I greet the freezing morning air as eagerly as it does to me. The seeping cold, strengthens me, and instead of avoiding the hand of ice, I joyfully throw myself in to it. I have nothing to be afraid of, for this is what my home is. It is a place where snow slopes are meant to be raced down on skis, and where huge blankets of snow hold promises of unmade caves. A time when my pictures aren’t going to have the sharpness of an iPhone, but the memories I make will be clear, and full of laughter. A time when I gratefully trade electronics for board games and stories of years past. For me, it is the only time of year that never gets old. Each year it comes, there are new surprises that will jump out at me. And when it leaves, when the cold is replaced with tentative heat, and the sun peeks it’s head out of the clouds, I wave Winter goodbye as if it were an old friend. I watch as it packs it belongings and leaves town, my heart already yearning for next year.