I remember one time, when I was about 11 years old, in a winter when snow had consistently been covering the ground for days, and during the evening, a crisp and thick dusting of fresh snow fell late in the evening covering the world again in white.

About the time “preparation for bed time” usually began, my mother asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. Perhaps I remember so well because I didn’t understand then the reason for this interruption in our routine.

But, once properly bundled and venturing outside, I noticed that the dusting of new snow that had fallen was the chrystalline type of snow that sparkled in the light, and because of the weather, no footprints or car tracks had yet marred the blanket of sparkling crystals that had covered our suburbian neighborhood.

Each step caused the brilliance reflected from the street lights to shine and sparkle in other directions, the night so clear and quiet that made it seem that the whole world was frozen in a diamond-faceted encasing – like the stars from the sky had, for a moment, mirrors on the ground.

As a young child, I realized then, that the rarely seen shimmering of this special snow was the reason for the change in our routine. This rarely seen beauty was important, and it was important to take time out to witness and appreciate it. The experience made such an impression that I remember it vividly — over 30 years later.

It doesn’t seem like snow stays on the ground as long as it used to. I don’t recall many times since when the world sparkled as it did that night. In fact, I remember the winters of my youth as mostly white and clean. But, since I moved away from the world of paved driveways, roads and sidewalks, these seemingly milder winters now seem to be The Seasons of Mud.

I hate mud.