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Dusk and with little snow remaining.
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The snow didn't stay long.
“You wake up on a winter morning and pull up the shade, and what lay
there the evening before is no longer there--the sodden gray yard, the
dog droppings, the tire tracks in the frozen mud, the broken lawn chair
you forgot to take in last fall. All this has disappeared overnight, and
what you look out on is not the snow of Narnia but the snow of home,
which is no less shimmering and white as it falls. The earth is covered
with it, and it is falling still in silence so deep that you can hear
its silence. It is snow to be shoveled, to make driving even worse than
usual, snow to be joked about and cursed at, but unless the child in you
is entirely dead, it is snow, too, that can make the heart beat faster
when it catches you by surprise that way, before your defenses are up.
It is snow that can awaken memories of things more wonderful than
anything you ever knew or dreamed.”
-
Blanketed in white. View from the other side of the building.
