We've got snow galore and it's still falling. I went to the deli around the corner to get a steaming hot cup of coffee. Good java flows like lava. Unfortunately, it's been so quiet that Teresa didn't bother to refresh the urn. The only other patron was an elderly man buying scratch-off lottery tickets. Teresa threw a cup of some of what was left of the coffee into the microwave and gave it to me FOC. Not a great cup o' joe but, still, it's better than instant.
"Do you have snow at your house?" she asked me with a smile in her thin Lebanese accent. "Oh, no," I said. "we're all clear over there." "No snowstorm down the street?" she giggled. "Nah, we just missed it, I guess." I was hoping to see some neighborhood kids out building a snow sphinx or something. Alas, perhaps it's still kind of early.
I love how quiet it gets when snow is falling; the puffy globular flake cakes insolating the air against ambient sound muting all but the most deliberate noise. The sounds of what few cars there were on the road were actually more noticable even though they were muffled. No wind, just a breeze, no rustling in the trees. The snow is too fresh and light even to crunch under my boots. Pretty good for packing, though, even if it's impossible to flick off a decent slider.
There's about six inches on the ground right now and more is piling on. Snow-covered snow, that's the ticket. The front porch's steps were a white slope giving no hint that beneath the shroud of crystalized raindrops there was actually a contour of alternating 8-inch-long right angles. At least, not until I walked down the stairs. It's relatively warm out, too. I guess falling snow could be considered a greenhouse gas if it were a gas. And if I had some bacon I could have some bacon and eggs if I had some eggs.
A deep fresh coat of snow softens all forms 'til even the harshest car and truck chasis' look as aerodynamic as minivans. And you can't leave your footprint in it, you can only leave a deep ill-defined depression kinda like when my ex refused to take her meds. I live on a small dead end street and we're always the last street to get plowed. Walking down the middle of the road is like walking through shin-deep water; you gotta lift your feet knee-high with every step and, essentially, stomp your way down the street.
I just went around the corner again to fetch some tea bags. The elderly gentleman was still scratching tickets. Well... what else is there to do on a snow day? I'd like to just sit here all day and enjoy some hot tea with milk and honey. If only I had some honey.
