It’s nearly April, and with every two-or-more-day stretch of clear weather, I begin to hope that we’re done with the snow, that we’re a little bit closer to seeing real evidence of spring’s presence. Inevitably, the forecast changes and I wake up to fresh snow on the ground and all my hopes dashed like ice falling from the roof.

This morning the snow falls in small, steady flakes against a backdrop of thick fog that’s draped itself over the whole town. Driving down Baycrest hill to the office, it appears as if the entire bay — Spit, mountains and all — has disappeared in a false whiteout. The roads are coated in slush and some measure of sand, which I am grateful for even as I feather my brakes to slow down to 30 mph — 15 below the speed limit — around a particularly sharp curve.

I make it safely to my new parking spot at the brewery above the office, another necessity I’m grateful for after my two-wheel-drive car got stuck in the Homer News parking lot twice in the previous week. It’s just a short walk downhill, I remind myself, tightening my scarf and blinking against the snow flying in my face. And the weather is supposed to clear up by the afternoon.

At the bottom of the hill, I pause. Ahead of me is Beluga Lake, shrouded in silent fog. In fact the whole area is quiet — not quite silent, but with all sounds muffled like the world is walking around on tiptoes.

I stand for a minute in the falling snow, viscerally reminded of the joy I used to find in such weather when I was younger. Snow was something to be excited about, and the way the falling flakes silenced the loud world never failed to thrill me. I feel a little bit of that old giddiness return. I wonder at just what point snow became a burden.

In all likelihood, if I wake up to more snow accumulation tomorrow, I’ll throw a silent fit and grumble about spring taking its dear old sweet time. I am beyond ready for consistently warm weather, clear roads and nature showing colors other than white, brown and evergreen.

But in the midst of all the breakup season angst, it was nice to remember, at least for a moment, that sometimes snow isn’t all that bad.