We've had so little snow this winter that—I can't believe I'm actually writing this, given the long, rough winter we had last year—I'm excited about the storm headed our way this evening. Excited in the way I was about snow when I was little. I want to stay up late and watch it begin. I've lit all of the candles in the windows to welcome it. Maybe I should make it a little hot chocolate, too.
This winter has been beyond unusual. Temperatures have stayed mostly in the 30s and 40s for months. The ground is barely frozen, if at all (I planted some forgotten daffodils a little more than a week ago, on the second day of January). We haven't had to pay our plow guy yet, because he has had nothing to plow. I've shoveled off the patio a grand total of once, and even then, the snow on it probably would have melted on its own.
So, you might say I'm in a celebratory, anticipatory frame of mind. Two to six inches of snow before midday tomorrow is all right with me.