Snow is falling, tiny flakes, a thin veil
on the face of everything. A thin layer of accumulation. I don't especially like havING to clear snow out of our driveway, but I don't dislike it as much as I used to. I think I've finally accepted that this is Wisconsin and I'm gonna have to shovel snow in the winter. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. If you don't like snow, Tom, you've made a hell of a bad choice regarding a place to live. I guess at this age I am ready to suck it up.
Squirrels in the back yard, a pair of them, playing run and jump, leaping from one tree to another. They race down the tree, across the lawn, back to the first tree. The snow has them giddy. Or are they in love?
The snow is turning into serious business by the time I back out of the driveway, large flakes, falling fast. A fellow could sing Christmas carols all the way to work.
The Grand River is an open darkness this morning. The flag at the cemetery doesn't have much to say. Out in the country, the world is a doughnut with powdered sugar.
A holy man would write a hymn today, a prayer full of praise, a morning song with love for the world. Instead I drive carefully on snow-covered road.
Snow all the way into the distance: I feel like a man losing his sight. The world dims with snow.
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