(I LOVE YOUtah winning entry):

Spring

 The last of the dirty, gray snow huddles in the north corner of my backyard.  In days it will vanish into the spongy ground.  The trees will wake up. White blossoms from my neighbor’s apricot tree will surprise me one morning when I crack the blinds.  The flowers will make me think of sharing a sun-warmed apricot over the fence or getting a bright, golden jar of homemade jam left on my back porch.

 Summer

 Gazing out my east window, a mountain trail calls my name.  The towering, steady mountain has secrets to share.  I follow the summoning majesty.  Breathing pure, elevated air I see why it so anxiously called.  Wildflowers bloom in full spectrum and in every direction.  I know the hill doesn’t mind that I don’t know the proper name for each blossom.  I make up my own (the mountain thinks I’m clever), Cauliflower Pops, Saturday’s Firework, Smiling Irene.  A small creek brings down melted snow, singing it’s babbling song as I dip my fingers in the frigid water.  The sun rises higher and hotter, helping to waft the mountain perfume of wildflowers in every direction as I reluctantly return down the trail. 

 Fall

 The colors pop in the foothills.  Golden tones, fire yellows and deep reds set the mood for buying swanky, leather boots and fat pumpkins.  At the glorious peak of spectacular color, it inspires. Bake an apple pie? Butternut squash soup for dinner?  Cinnamon sticks simmering on the stove?  I’m sure there’s never been a more magnificent fall and there never will be.  I make plans to name my first child Autumn.  Then I watch the news and the weatherman wears a white jacket.   I plug my ears to muffle the sounds of friends and neighbors clapping their mitten-clad hands together in jubilant celebration.  “The first snow!  The first snow!”  I hear an entire valley shout in unison as they pull out wax and dust off bindings and goggles.  I turn off the news and go waterproof my new boots.  Fall is over.

 Winter

 Many dark mornings and icy windshields is the routine.  Accidents on 1-15 and 2-15 at the 5:15 commute.  Feet and feet and feet of snow with no snow days.  This is Utah.  The kids catch a ride in the plow truck before school is cancelled.  Winter is long and cold and dark.  One morning, while the city still sleeps on a lazy Sunday, I am up early.  The night before having cursed the white jacket-wearing weatherman for the 17th time, I brace for the worst, going outside in search of the Sunday paper.  I hold my breath and open the door. 

Magic.

Every bare branch and naked shrub has a perfect layer of snow.  Every surface I see – car, mailbox, fence— is masterfully covered with the brilliant shine of untouched, morning snow.  My ordinary neighborhood is now my own private winter kingdom.  Every tiny branch is equally dusted to perfection.  Even the power line, which I never noticed before, is now a beautiful, shimmering tightrope.  I want to balance down the street.  My street of frozen wonder.

 I love Utah, year round.