Have you ever just stopped and really appreciated a fresh snowfall? Everything’s covered in a pristine fluffy white, sparkling and dazzling in the light – a clean, unbroken outline that hints at wonders underneath.
For a short while, you only see the surface. You don’t see the frozen ground that can turn to slush or mud. You don’t see the backbreaking labor to shovel the driveway or the walkways. You don’t see the salt eating at the undercarriage of your vehicle, or the commute that just doubled and became life-threatening. You don’t feel the cold and blustery winds.
Nor do you see the hints of the new growth underneath the mud. The promise of the green and vibrant colors of the spring to come is dormant. The warmth of the sun in summer eludes you. The scents and sounds of crackling leaves and fireplaces in autumn are, as yet, untasted and unheard. You think you remember them all, standing there in the snow-covered world, but the memories are pale in comparison to the reality.
It occurs to me that infatuation is the fresh snowfall. But love is seeing and appreciating beneath the surface, not just the hints and promises of brighter seasons, but knowing the slush and the muck and the labor make those seasons more meaningful because you’ve earned them.
And if you’re lucky, infatuation deepens into love…and you get to be infatuated with the same person again and again with the love growing deeper each time as the seasons turn.