The parking lot at work has been plowed and plowed and plowed some more, so often that we now have these giant grey mounds of snow that look like the slag heaps of Mordor. And it struck me that if you live in an urban area and that's the only kind of snow you see most of the time, then no wonder you'd hate snow. Because slag heaps are ugly and horrid and you can't even have fun climbing on them because they're so dirty.
But I get to drive home through mile after mile of countryside, with pristine snow-covered fields and forests on either side of the road. And when the sun is rising like it was this morning, filling the eastern sky with flame-tongues of orange and pink and the western sky with frosted rainbow layers, and the snow reflects the sunlight just enough to turn into a broad expanse of fairy dust, how can I not love snow?
And I realized that it's things like the sight of a snow-dusted forest that make me categorically refuse to believe in evolution. I can't believe that something that wondrous and beautiful could just happen by chance any more than I can believe that the Mona Lisa was created by someone dumping a bucket of paint over a canvas or that the "Rhapsody in Blue" was written by a cat running across a piano keyboard. God created nature as surely as DaVinci and Gershwin created their works of art.