Fleecy mittens and hair dryers.
Just like that, winter is upon us, in all it’s slushy, fat-flaked glory. Walking to the bus depot this morning in my many layers and insensible shoes, I noticed all sorts of gorgeous, nature-y things–a bird flitting about the wet branches of a maple tree; clouds, snow-heavy and blue, growing darker and lower by the second; obscenities traced in the snow by some well-meaning punk.
At work, we had two cancellations due to the snow, which, in town, was nothing more than a few pretty inches that melted off just past noon. In the county, I’m sure it was much more dramatic, and I miss that about living in the county: getting the snow first, and having a solid reason to cancel things. As it was, everybody on the bus had nice puddles around their feet, and rosy cheeks and noses, and everyone said chipper things like, “Cold out there, isn’t it?”, or grumpy things like, “Cold out there, isn’t it?”
I notice: snow is a whole heck of a lot more fun when you don’t have to drive anywhere.
I don’t have to drive anywhere.