|Forsythia, with ridiculous "bobbles" on the ends of some branches.|
I love snow light; it's as if something had erased all the red from the sunlight, leaving only cool blues. Everything looks different, somehow.
|Baby monkey tree, with snow-laden spider web.|
|Chia didn't appreciate the snow. She sat on the windowsill, staring out, thrashing her tail angrily.|
|"What have you done? Where's all my nice, green grass?"|
I went out to the driveway to assess the driving conditions. Chia followed me, tiptoeing across the cement floor of the carport, lifting each foot quickly as if she'd been burned, then retreated to the welcome mat and sat staring sadly at the awful whiteness out there. I opened the door and she hurried in to the warmth.
But I love the snow. Even through a window. It softens and enhances everything, even everyday eyesores.
|Power pole and wires.|
|Zooming in on the contraptions at the top.|
|Stair rail. With snow pom-poms all down the sides.|
|African violets on my windowsill, in snow light.|
|Trees across the street. Each tree has its own way of collecting snow. And those forsythia bobbles, again.|
The snow has stopped. The temperature has gone above freezing. And the weather people are promising us rain in the morning, with more snow in the evening, but it will be too warm for it to stay put. BC weather; it's always going to rain again.