I'm not exactly what you would call a "Winter Person". I hate snow. I hate the cold. I love early fall and late spring, and usually get on well in the summer, even when it's sticky hot. But I HATE winter.
That being said, there are certain moments throughout the wintertime when I can be found succumbing to the more romantic aspects of the season. For example, I'm a sucker for snow on Christmas and Christmas Eve. I love when I have a day off and we can play "Snow Day" and just stay on the couch and cuddle all day long. And usually, I love the first snow of the year. When you wake up and look out the window, and the whole neighborhood is blanketed with white velvet and no little monkey children have wrecked it yet, and no dogs have peed in it yet and the plows haven't passed yet, churning up all the dirty city dirtiness.
I have been known to be a fan of the purity of the first snowy day.
This year however, I have been majorly ripped off. The first snow came and went and if you blinked you may have missed it. It only lightly dusted the ground with snow, and when I say lightly dusted, I mean that by the time I got up to walk the dogs, it had all blown itself into corners and under cars. And then the next day it snowed again, but I can still see grass. Car windows weren't even covered. I'm so disappointed.
However, you can rest assured that the guy our landlady pays to clear the walk and the stairs came by today and pushed all the snow aside. There wasn't even half a centimetre. I think he must be paid for everytime he shows up, rather than by the season.