All day it has snowed--constant, slow, heavy flakes drifting ceaselessly down from the dim sky. All day I watched it fall, safe in my office. My only venture outside, once I got to work this morning, was to sweep the snow off my bird feeder and refill it, an act which produced immediate gratification in the form of some chatty titmice stopping by for a snack. Snow piled up on my car. The path to the parking lot softly filled with wet flakes. Meetings were cancelled. The mail was late. The world outside seemed muffled, buried as it was under this heavy white blanket.

When I left work, snow shone in the lights of the parking lot and in my headlights. Falling, falling, falling,  and it's going to keep falling through tomorrow, according to the weather report. Luckily the pile of powder in my driveway was light enough to just plow through with my car. Safely parked, I headed to the front porch for the snow shovel. No footprints were visible on the sidewalk, but two parallel lines ran past the house and down the street. Ski tracks. I could even see faint circles where the skier had planted his or her poles. The thought of someone blithely skiing through the neighborhood as I was working away right up the street somehow lightened my attitude toward the inexorable snow, even as I set to work clearing the driveway yet again. At least someone was able to get out and enjoy this storm, just as I had done yesterday on snowshoes.

Getting the shovel,
I see twin paths in the snow--
someone enjoyed this.