Another snowpocalypse. This is getting depressingly regular, but at least this time it’s dry powder, not wet dense stuff, and there’s no freezing rain to coat everything, snapping branches plus power lines with its weight. Boxnoggin is mildly put out that he will not have walkies today, but the backyard is so cold and the snow so unpleasant on his tender tootsies he’s willing to be magnanimous, especially if I give him a treat or two.
With the cedars gone the east wind smacks the back of the house, including my office window. Which is less than ideal…but nothing can be done, so here we are. At least the melt, when it happens, will give me plenty of fodder for the epic fantasy, where the main character is trekking across a frozen swamp and hoping spring will stave off for long enough to get to the other side. I think next they’ll hear the hunting horns of their enemies, because of course things can always get worse in one of my books.
Both bridges over the river are at a standstill, and all authorities are pleading with people to stay put, don’t try to travel, just for the love of god stay off the roads. I am wincing for everyone who feels they have to go out in this mess, especially those who literally can’t afford to miss work. Weather events are one thing, but late-stage capitalism is a much worse catastrophe, and it seems goddamn near unending. Each week brings a fresh hell; I am legitimately surprised guillotines haven’t made a serious comeback.
The snow is pretty, though, and I’ll build a fire in a wee bit. The last of the cedar will probably go up the chimney today. If this had to happen, things worked out as well as possible. I’m no optimist–I swear–but when I think of how bad it could be I’m damn near shivering with thankfulness.
A lot of dry snow is being kicked up by the wind. I haven’t seen this kind of feathery airborne stuff since Wyoming. The good news is, it’s clearing off the tree branches even as it rattles against the windows. I’d forgotten how clear the air gets in this kind of low-humidity freeze; it damn near sparkles, like champagne. I’m not going to go trudging around in the drifts, but it is rather beautiful.
I wish you toasty warmth and a bit of peace today, my dears. If I am very good and get all my projected work done, I might even play hooky with a sort of noir-ish thing…