Wind-whipped snow. I imagine a pep-talk in the cloud nursery: You’re a star! You’re unique! And no mention of gray mounds in a parking lot.
A spotlight from the other house gives me my first good look at the new landscape: soft focus and unlikely curves like a Playboy centerfold.
How much better than dealing with website woes, to sit out here and watch the snow swirl—a dance of a thousand veils backlit by the sun.
The snow’s blowing from the east; I’m quickly covered. With my new white fur I will go crouch over a rabbit’s burrow, Nanook of the South.
Snow! Snow snowing on snow. Snow snowily snows. Snowy, snowier, snowiest snow. Snow snow snow! (Ice? No.)
Steady sift of snow whitening every twig. But my eye is drawn to the one small patch of lawn grass left in the yard, those brave green tips.
At first light, I can’t get over the strangeness of a white ground below an opaque wall of woods. It’s magical, yes, but not in a good way.