Lovely
Someone told me yesterday that the snow in march is only to be expected. She said that March to her was like a sulky adolescent. The days vary from cold damp to moments of blissful warm in the shelter of the south facing terrace pocketed between the porch's el and the two overly large arbor vitae. The is still a considerable amount of snow on the ground, added to yesterday by another few inches. It was a lovely storm. Thick blanket of fine tiny flakes that obscured the mountain entirely. I had an appointment out Guilford way. Along the Weatherhead Hollow I could see little. A few geese were skating low over the pond and the road was covered with snow. So I had to slow down. Take a look at this and that- the funny farm house that rests so to the road- angled so that its front a left side are inches from the curving bend. A mail box is nailed to the side, rusted and looking unused. The clapboards are grey, and the roof slates peaking through the snow are dark and glossy. I love that...