It was the kind of morning where grey is what welcomes me after I realize that I am not going to see a sun rise. I could wait just a moment more in the hopes that it is not grey, but a soft predawn blue. But no. Soon there is enough light to see the wind whip the fine cold snow through the meadow, create small hurricanes and tornadoes, exit stage left, angrily, between the trees, and head east, but soon return to stir up even more trouble, trying to frighten the birds from the yard, startle the rabbits who are hunkered and fluffy against the fury. This fine powdery snow is all I need to know it is biting cold. This tempest soon gives way to lake effect and the constant thick stream of bigger flakes past the house. Perhaps it isn’t as cold, but I have steeled yourself against it to get to the car, and, once inside, care only about the front and rear defrost doing their job.
Out on the road, spindles of snow slip across my path, fired by a long wind from far away. In places the field seems to continue onto the road. The odd truck is in the ditch because it took a drift too quickly or not seriously enough, or didn’t see it. The small drifts pull at the car, trying to tug it to the side, like navigating a boat on a particularly wavy day.
Back home I notice the sky has opened up for a moment, and I grab my camera, not that everything else was not photo-worthy, but here the sky seems to be exposing its mouth, throat, and lungs, inhaling back into the space from where the strong wind has blown most of the day.