You usually come as unexpectedly as guests at a party yelling “Surprise!” for the wrong person, leaving some partygoers disappointed but others mildly amused. With just a single one of your flakes, all eyes glue to the nearest windows, unable to look away from your silent storm brewing outside. Your arrival unnerves mothers and jubilates children, bringing news of the incoming flu season and inevitable snow days. You coat the roads gently like powdered sugar sprinkled on luscious lemon bars, the thin layer adding natural beauty to an industrialized world.

For me, you evoke the thought of silky hot chocolate warming the back of my throat. My tongue aches to be burned numb again by the lava flow of rich cocoa. You remind me of feel-good movies watched in front of a radiant fire, as happy memories pour into my heart long after I have outgrown the purity of childhood. Your signal of summer’s official departure brings a grin to my face, as unwelcome, invasive bugs and faint-inducing heat are left in the rearview mirror. When I see you, I know that the beloved Christmas season of catchy carols and scrumptious desserts is near and also that my birthday is on the way, the next year of my life looming on the horizon.

Your snowflakes descend as if a salt shaker is hidden in the clouds, flavoring the earth with the tiny grains. Despite their minisculity, no power exists like the one they have when they gather together. I have learned not to underestimate your surprising heaviness or icy hardness.

Once you reach the ground, you lie there, motionless, like a fresh sheet of blank paper, begging for bold adventurers to draw on you with the colors of their bodies. To a younger me, you were an unlimited source of Play-Doh. You molded into smooth spheres that launched out of my hands and exploded like tiny grenades on my irritated brother’s coat as we, cladden in heavy, black snow pants, unwillingly cleared a path on our deck with plastic shovels. My muscles ache and my fingertips tingle when I think of you. My arms have imprinted countless angels’ wings into your cushion, and my muddy, worn-down boots have sunk so often into your accumulation, creating a dirty slosh that can never again be made clean. You are a stomping grounds for my dog, who, for the same reason he enjoys eating ice, loves to lick you with his moist tongue. During the day, the Sun always touches you with its long, thin fingers. If I dare look at you directly, I immediately am blinded by the glint it gives you, the same one as that in the eye of someone gazing romantically at a lover.

The chill you bear is enough to suck the feeling from all my body parts, like a drain absorbing every last water droplet from the shower floor. Longing for shelter, young and old alike in my family shudder under your embrace. You force us to turn up the heater all the way just to be comfortable in our own house. You seep your way through the thick wool of my sweaters and scarves, turning my pale cheeks the faint color of worn roses.

Your layers always become a pair of earmuffs for the world in which I live, muffling almost all noises of life. Birds still chirp happily in the background, but the grass is not around for the merciless wind to ruffle, nor are the fallen autumn leaves for hungry, bitter squirrels to trample. Trees lie naked like Adam and Eve before the temptation of the Devil, with nothing but their own strength to protect them from your brutal bite as part of a pure New England winter.

I just want to tell you, first snowfall of the year, that, despite your flaws, I still love you. The heart of winter comes not long after you do, so the sight of you means that Harry Potter weekends and sugar cookies are coming soon too. Even when I shake like a baby’s rattle because of you, you still make me smile, and I will forever appreciate the joy that you bring to me every year. In a life full of unpredictable circumstances, you are a constant.