cue mr. crosby

This morning, I took the dog out and noticed a few dustings of snow across the sidewalk. By the time I drove to work, it was coming down like a real snow storm, as opposed to the rainy slush of the last few days.

My work is out in the country, or I should say, is in a rural-like area, a setting that is surrounded (out of sight) by new neighborhoods. Looking out across fields with wooden fences and structures, the view is one of quiet serenity on mornings like this one, with the snow falling thickly, its flakes piling up on the tree trunks, and what color that was left after the hard freezes of late autumn has completely disappeared under the monochromatic blanket that now covers everything.

Work shut down at noon, and by the time I got back on the road, the snow had ended. In the city, it was much less spread out, and somebody said that we will have temps in the 50s by weekend.

No need, really, to let Bing and Irving define what Christmas is, or what it should look like. But it was comfortingn to idly watch the snow fall this morning, as if all the hustle and bustle of the season, artificial as that is, could be forgotten and ignored.