Winter has come back to Henrico, and this time, she’s brought her full artillery. Everything is wrapped in ice—the trees, the sidewalks, the cars sitting like forgotten relics in driveways. The grass is gone, buried under a thick crust of frozen rain, and even the squirrels, usually nature’s little daredevils, have called it a day.

It’s a quiet kind of cold, the kind that makes you stop and take stock of things. The streets, normally dotted with dog walkers and those dedicated fitness types, are empty. My lil dog and I stand at the door, watching the world hold its breath, and I swear even he’s reconsidering this whole “walk” idea.

Snow fell first, soft and gentle, turning everything into a picture book. But then came its unruly twin—freezing rain—the trickster of winter weather. It doesn’t float down gracefully; it sneaks in overnight, turning roads into slip-and-slide courses and trees into glass sculptures. Beautiful, sure, but treacherous.

And now we wait. For the thaw, for the green to return, for the world to shake off this cold and stretch its arms toward the sun. Spring will come, eventually. It always does. But on days like this, when the world is still and silent, I can’t help but wonder—what’s she waiting for?