There's something special about winter in New England
There's the way that the emissions from the smoke stacks blend into the bright, white clouds
There's the particular blue of the sky that's like dunking your head into a bucket of ice water
There's the grey of snow in February and the slushy crunch and sloppy sloosh of snow beneath a pair of warm boots
There's sledding on fresh powder and shredding some real 'gnar
There's hot, sweet tea with a cookie and whipped cream
There's reading a good book, warm in bed while the wind howls outside
There's hot and cold and wet and dark and fresh snow like frozen cotton decorating the trees.
There's the way that the emissions from the smoke stacks blend into the bright, white clouds
There's the particular blue of the sky that's like dunking your head into a bucket of ice water
There's the grey of snow in February and the slushy crunch and sloppy sloosh of snow beneath a pair of warm boots
There's sledding on fresh powder and shredding some real 'gnar
There's hot, sweet tea with a cookie and whipped cream
There's reading a good book, warm in bed while the wind howls outside
There's hot and cold and wet and dark and fresh snow like frozen cotton decorating the trees.
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