Attack of the snowmen

Snowman - check. Christmas tree decoratively stuck into snow hill awaiting garbage pickup - check. Sopping wet hats and mitts - check. It's January.

Sound changes completely when snow falls, have you noticed? Apart from the bonus sound of snowplows grinding along the roads and, in my community, sidewalks. Things are on the one hand more muffled, and on the other, more audible. You can actually hear snowflakes falling on a snowbank if you're quiet. I know because after an hour or so of shifting the stuff I tend to be pretty darn mute, leaning on the handle of my shovel, wondering whether I can go inside already. (actually, I do enjoy shoveling. honest.)

Anyway, it snowed here yesterday and will snow again today and I am finished the latest editing job and apart from hauling more snow I am free, if I choose, to touch my gorgeous Fleece Artist yarn or even knit with it. Or I can work on my novel, for which wonderful words have been unfolding in my mind as I edited and shoveled and made more chicken stock. Or I can just look out the window at how beautiful it all is. (yeah. I'll be writing, thanks - I don't look any of those gift horses in the mouth!)