The beauty of snow

Last night I fell asleep to the sound of rain and woke to same.  The forecast called for a chill to set in overnight and turn everything to ice. I was thankful that the cold held off. If it were snow, I’d be shoveling shin-deep piles.

But when I opened the blinds, I sighed over the ugliness of the view. From my office, I see past my oaks and into the wooded lot across the road. In the summer, it’s a wall of green. With the branches bare, it’s a look at the property owner’s collection of stuff. There’s a uncovered boat on a trailer (uncovered generally means “doesn’t run”), a rotting tent, a front loader that hasn’t moved since last year, and something that looks like a fallen stack of lumber.

Then the chill arrived. The rain streaking the windows turned to glittery beads and stripes. The snow is slowly burying the evidence of sloth and blurring the edges of the junk.

 

 

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