The first feeling I perceive as my eyes slowly break through the frozen sleep, like removing the frost from a car window, is my aching bones. I can detect each and every miniscule movement as they grind against each other. Once my eyes are completely open, the small clouds of my warm breath condensing as it escapes the rhythmic exhaling of my mouth become visible. I forgot to seal the window before I went to sleep. The forecast said it wouldn’t be getting cold for another week. Having only a small blanket seems to have done little except keep me from the brink of freezing.
This semi-frozen state isn’t a desired one, a blanket is needed if I am to thaw myself. So, I extend my arm over the bed. The glacial air that fills the room bites at my arm as it ventures from under the thin fabric. I perform the movement as swift as possible. The thick woollen blanket under the bed is my target. Before my hand reaches the underside of  the bed, there is a sudden sting on my arm. What heat is left begins to rapidly drain out.  Becoming frantic, my hand darts around under the bed in search of the woollen blanket that would lead to the end of my battle with the temperature of the room. Relief replaces the sense of danger brought about by the warmth-draining entity as my hand comes in contact with the rough surface of the blanket. I instantly retract my arm as my brittle hand forms around the object of my troubles. I bring my head to my knee then wrap my arms around them, trying to warm my limbs with the heat of my torso. I open the blanket just enough to cover my body. I begin to take deep breaths and exhale with force enough to spread the warm air throughout the area under the, now dome-shaped, blanket.
My hibernation is interrupted by my mother’s call, “No school today because of bad weather.” ‘Bad weather’ is the reason they give, however, to me it’s ‘misunderstood’ weather. It’s difficult to understand, because it seems to force all in its path away. The birds that sing every morning are forced south. The lush, green grass is forced to wait under the sheets of snow and ice. The trees’ swaying leaves are forced to die and fall. The schools are forced to close, because it makes the roads hard to traverse. Although the winter weather seems to force all of these parts of life away, it really doesn’t.
Nature is just giving the winter weather the respect it desires. Winter weather wants all to be still. So, the singing birds take their leave and go south. The rustling leaves detach themselves as to not disturb the quiet white of the snow. When snow starts to flow from the clouds above, grass doesn’t fight to stay standing. With the grass allowing the snow to cloak it, the humming insects depart. All becomes quite, just as noiseless as the continuous mantle of snow. Save for the rumbling of cars, snow tractors, and complaining people.
Standing on my front porch, I try not to slip on the patches of ice. Carefully stepping down the icy stairs, I button up my jacket. Being more prepared allows the enjoyment of the winter weather easier. As I journey from my house, in the direction away from town, the silent nature of winter becomes more apparent.  The snow is eternal, not broken-up by tracks of cars or snow shoveled by people wanting a ‘clear path’.  I take each step cautiously, being sure to keep my disruptful impressions no larger than they have to be. My favourite spot, the flat region under an enormous oak, grows larger with each step.
This area is overlaid with a deep coating of snow, reaching just past my knee. I keep to one path as I grab a branch from the base of the towering tree, then go back to the edge of the flat area. I outline the circumference. This is the line that will mark where I can no longer take snow.
As I reach the starting point again, I begin to curl the snow. Delicately removing only the top 4-6 inches of the powder, continuing to roll around the tree until the the ball is a respectable size. Once the ball has reached a diameter of about two and a half feet, I softly ferried it to the base of the tree. I repeat the process twice more, generating a smaller ball each time. Once the snowman template is completed, I reveal the rest of the supplies from my bag; a large carrot, some black stones, mittens, and a scarf. Meticulously, I arrange each piece in the proper spot, using branches on either side of the snowman as arms.
After a few minutes of admiration of the gentle snow-being, I take a seat next to it. Retrieving the last ingredient of a perfect snow day, a thermos filled with hot chocolate, I rest. Enjoying the warm brew, I think there is no better activity to do on this type of day except enjoy the silence with a snowman.