Winter is the bipolar season.  The white snow reflects the sun in such a way that we are bathed, at times blinded by light or if seated by a window, enveloped in gentle heat.

This same white snow also keeps some of us inside, trapping us in the darkened indoors, darkened by the contrast to the brilliance outside.  Darkened by the difficulty of enjoying outdoor pursuits during this season.

Bipolar in that the sunniest winter days are often the coldest.  The air is as crisp as the snow.  I love the sound that only cold snow can make.  It is a dry squeak that resonates in my head, my soul and in my boots.  I have no idea why the sound affects me so but it is one of my all-time favourite sounds.

It is crisp, clean and unpolluted.  Usually you can only hear it on those days where your nose hairs freeze with the first breath of the outside.

The sunny rays call to me and draw me outside and despite knowing that it will be bitterly cold outside I heed the call.  A crazy Canadian perhaps.  I cannot resist walking outside with the dog – who runs rather than walks, and realize that I am alive, I am whole and that I am happily chilled to the bone but powered by the positive sound of crispy snow.