Where is the Disdainful Snow?

Through the hollow shades a confused wind stirred into the warm room. Sheets of plastic clapped together and a poster loudly ruffled on the wall. It was late November and the thermometer outside read 5º Celsius. The trees, streets, and rooftops sat barren; there was no snow to captivate and motivate people to heave shovels and create snowmen. The season was in hiatus. It fell somewhere between fall and winter, but it failed to decide on either. It was a weakened state... seemingly steadfast and durable, but underlying that gentle breeze sat the uneasy stomach of global warming. It would vomit millions of tons of seawater onto shorelines, so much that it would swallow cities and never recede. Drought would pollute Saskatchewan and winnow the vegetation we have into a palate of biting sand and wind. The cruel, -20º winds filled with shards of icy flakes would be welcome at this time of year. A swamp of snowdrifts that children charge through in militant-fashion would be eagerly accepted. Not by the majority, no but by me, yes. The skies should be darkened by pregnant cloud, hanging deep with plump clusters of snowflakes. Large, cumbersome machines should be leisurely casting waves of sand across the snow-ridden roads, and cars should be mashing the snow and sand into a murky mixture.

It shouldn't be like this. I look outside to the clear skies and above 0º weather and feel a twist in my stomach. I'm actually disgusted by it. This is not what a Saskatoon winter should be like late into November...