As I look out the window at the crisp cornflower blue sky, sun still shining, it seems hard to imagine that the next couple of days will be punctuated by a new spate of snowfall. Depending on what report you read, we're due to get anywhere from 3 to 8 inches. Other than a sudden flurry of chickadee activity at my bird feeder this morning, I've had no presentiment of bad weather on the way. The few clouds beginning to accumulate in the west seem fluffy and insubstantial as yet. If it weren't for TV or the Internet, the snow flurries that are supposed to begin later this afternoon would be taking me completely by surprise. If I had an outside job that required me to be more in tune with the elements--as a fisherman, for example--I'm sure I'd be noticing signs now that would be tipping me off to the impending storm. But most of us are out of touch with that knowledge these days. Most days my innate weather sense is limited to what I'm actually experiencing first-hand (and, also, if my arthritic thumb aches, it's probably cold outside). So tucked away safely in my office with no travel plans to get anxious about or frantic supermarket crowds to contend with, I can calmly enjoy these final hours of sunshine and blue sky--as well as look forward to soon seeing the winter landscape renewed.

Placid, perfect sky
gives no hint of coming snow,
gives nothing away.