We survived the snowpocalypse without so much as a flicker of the lights. Today it’s spectacularly beautiful out there: blue, blue skies and blinding sunshine. The snow is heavy and just wet enough so that it stuck where it was blown, coating even the vertical trunks of bare trees and the downward slope of deck railings like icing laid on by a sugar-addicted pastry chef.
It’s easy for me to admire it, of course. I don’t have to be anywhere until Monday, my husband is the snow shoveler (my job is to keep him supplied with hot tea during breaks), and I don’t have a dog. The only negative from my point of view is our poor bushes. The bigger ones are fine, fantastical and rather eerie. The smaller ones are not fine: they’re so weighed down by snow they look like those monumental statues of serfs ground beneath the heel of tyranny. For them this was definitely snowverkill.