Let it snow

Now that I've resigned myself to winter's arrival, I want it to snow.  Lots and lots of snow.  I want it lining each tree branch, piled high beside the front walk, and clinging to my eyelashes as I walk to work.  Most especially, I want it deep, and light, and ready to receive the tracks of my skis.  I want my breathe puffing out in a fog, as I kick through the trees in Gatineau Park.  I want a headband to protect my ears from the chill, as I glide downhill.  I want to eat my lunch in a muggy, wooden lodge, with the smell of wood smoke, wet wool and ski wax.  Enough of these dustings; I want a good, old-fashioned dump of snow.