Mary Novaria

Image: leozc/Pixabay The trees in the yard are frosted like vanilla-coconut cupcakes. Pointy icicles hang from the north side of the house. Sometimes I break one off and give it to the dog, like a stick. Today those spiky rods are rock solid, and I wonder, for no particular reason, if they really have been used as weapons. Murder and melt. Evidence gone. Maybe I’ve been watching too many British crime dramas.   In Colorado, snow falls on the roof, then melts, then refreezes. This is called ice damming.   There is also a thing called ice damning .    I made it up after getting stuck near the top of the driveway last week. It was a great introduction to our home for my high school bestie who’d just flown in for the weekend. I stopped the car before reaching the top to aim my remote at the garage door, not realizing there was a layer of ice under a dusting of snow. I swear it hadn’t been there when I left for the airport earlier. When I couldn’t get traction, I beg...

First published in HuffPost Author's Note: I wrote this piece a few years ago while living in Los Angeles. It takes on new meaning in our first winter living in Colorado where winter really is winter! The snowy mountains are stunningly beautiful and I am cheered by regular wildlife visitors, warm fireplaces, and hot cups of tea. Namaste.  With apologies to T.S. Eliot, April is not the cruelest month. February is far more foreboding. Even as hope springs eternal, Punxsutawney Phil sees his shadow. We’re tempted to crawl back into our proverbial holes and, if we have no sweetheart, we may feel like staying there well past Valentine’s Day.  January is no picnic, either. It’s the starting line for a multitude of sprints and marathons. In the New Year, the world pumps its fists and waves the flag of resolve, shouting, “Ready! Set! Go!” It seems everyone is jumping on the treadmill, but I don’t want to enter the race. In fact, I don’t want to get off the sofa. ...