Snow on Horse Mountain

Since we moved to California two years ago, December and Christmas have felt awkward.  Inside our home, twinkle lights reflect onto the walls and floor.  It feels warm, cozy, and perfectly Christmas.  Outside, the world is green, looking more like April than December.  To me, Christmas means snow.  Perhaps it always will, this association stemming from my youth and every one of my first twenty five years.

That’s how Shaina and I found ourselves atop Horse Mountain on a Thursday afternoon.  It was a single sunny, calm day between windy rain storms.  It was perfect.  We stepped out of the car, the crunch of snow underfoot.  The trees clung tightly to the snow weighing their branches.  It was perfect.  We laughed giddily, a mix of seasonal happiness and mocha-induced jitters.  My heart leaped.  

We wandered the trails, snapping wide photos of snow covered peaks in the distance, of the trees nearby, animal tracks in the snow, and the glittering sparkle of the sun’s reflection.  

 Looking to the east, hills were covered in snow; to the west, green hillsides and the Pacific Ocean, we were reminded of the varying climate zones of our area.  The north coast is truly unique.  

It felt like Christmastime.  I returned home to my green yard and flowering rose bushes, but I finally took snow home in my heart.  I smiled, sipped my holiday flavored coffee as I addressed Christmas cards.  It is surprising how something so small can make such a difference.  I love that Horse Mountain can soothe my Christmas homesickness.