Cold Ears (or, How I never remember to wear a hat)

It is 2:38 pm in Købehavn.

And it is snowing. Surprise.

Last night when it was snowing, it was snow of the magical sort--flying sideways and upways and every-other ways that you can think of. It wasn't a blizzard, just snow floating on wind. It was pretty and I was inside, so it was even prettier.

My biggest qualm with snow is that it's wet. Duh, jon. Obviously. Well, see, this wet part, it catches me by surprise. Every morning, I leave the apartment thinking that maybe, just maybe, it might warm up. The trick comes after noon, because it is then, inevitably, that the weather goes significantly downhill. Previously breezy days turn into windstorms, and snow that was sparingly lilting from the sky now hits you hard on every exposed part of your body. Then it melts. So not only are you cold, but you are wet.

And because my eternal hope always gets the better of me, I never seem to remember a warm hat outside.

Granted, this makes coming into any building or shelter surprisingly satisfying. It also makes you exceedingly happy for dry clothes and the amazing pre-warmed tiles found in most Danish bathrooms.

The snow isn't really that bad, and it can only make the spring all the sweeter. It's just that trudging through snow can't really be compared to lollygagging through the sun, the latter being much preferred.

But snow is part of the deal. You got of live through the ice and snow to get to the flowers and birds.

Here's to making it quick!