I'd love to sit here and chat, but four inches of fresh-fallen show are tellin' me what I need to be doing is pulling on yesterday's jeans, stout boots, bundling up and getting out there and clearing the stuff away.
Last night around about ten p.m. or earlier as I went to bed, the yard, sidewalks and street were utterly snow-free. A generous sprinkling of fallen leaves over fading-green grass in the yard, pavements dry.... Woke briefly at two a.m. and peeked out the window to find a powder-sugar dusting of snow, photogenically pretty.
What's out there now is to a "pretty dusting of snow" as a full-gown bull moose is to Bambi. It's been falling fast, thumping down, since the tiny hours and it hasn't stopped. Peering up into the still-dark sky, you're like an ant looking up at sugar pouring into a spoon.
And like the proverbial ant, I can't fiddle my morning away but must, perforce, work. To the shovels!
Come back later: I may have some photographs.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago