Winter arrives. Deal with it.

This is what greeted us outside the kitchen window this morning. No surprise, really, as we'd been expecting snow squalls all day yesterday and by the time I walked the dog before bed, our burg was sporting a nice white blanket.

Facebook and Twitter have been predictably overflowing with complaints about the weather. It's too cold. It's miserable. We hate it. Make it stop. Blah, blah, blah. Frankly, it makes me laugh. We have as much control over the weather as, well, we don't. It evolves on its own terms, and thinking anything else is a waste of time, energy and resources.

As I walked the dog last night, I hung back and watched him romp through the snow. He repeatedly buried his snout in the snow, only to emerge with his face covered in white. I'm quite sure he was smiling, as his body language spoke of pure joy at this mysterious, delightful white stuff that dogs don't logically understand, but appreciate, in their souls, more than we ever could.

We stayed out longer than usual, and he still didn't want to head back when I finally tugged on his leash and pointed us toward home. Maybe I need to follow his lead more often. Maybe we all do.