|The border is well marked; snow in the flower bed, dark mud under the hedge.|
|A sparrow ventures out for a brief look around, then heads back to the shade.|
|Chickadee on his favourite seed-splitting branch.|
|"What's this stuff? And where's my breakfast?"|
Our anticipated snowstorm turned out to be a dollar store brand; skimpy, fragile, and quickly worn out. By mid-morning, the snow was plopping off the trees in big, slushy shovels-full. On the ground, those nice white mounds turned into a couple of inches of whitish mush. Now it's raining.
And I was hoping to build a snowman. Oh, well...