Last night’s snow came down wet. So did the sleet, and the slush, and the rain. To be followed by freezing cold over night. I hate when that’s about to happen.
The warning sign comes when you look out at the patio and all the fluffy white snow has gone grey and semi-translucent and it’s smiling evilly at you saying, Hi. I’d like to become an ice rink now.
Other than fantasies about ice monsters that may come as you’re pushing slush around, wet snow isn’t nearly as interesting as dry snow. The only cool shape I found were these neat little accordion folds sliding down the side of a plastic flower pot.
And now it’s time to rest.
Writing Every Day 