Not Exactly

It now seems as though there will be snow every night. I have resigned myself to living in a whitened world which will disolve each day. Early yesterday morning, I noticed small white ridges a few inches long on the walk. Scattered here and there, they were like thin calligraphy of ice, their mesage inexplicable. On close examination, I discovered that they were snow-covered pine needles. Something falls and is itself, and then something else falls and the two things appear to be something other than themselves. Reality surprises me until I examine it, and then I am merely confused. I have no idea what it means.

( Sunday Verse )

Contempt

So the snow didn't melt off today, but it never stuck to the roads and it was very thin everywhere else. Green blades of grass poked through the white crust covering the lawn, premature flowers burst from the broken shells of what would have been drifts had the snow been serious. The snow was a joke. The persistent clouds and the cold, still air allowed it to keep clinging to the trees, but it was a mere ghost of winter, not winter itself. The entire mass of it in my yard could barely have made a decent snowman. It reminded me of the fake snow from spray cans that people sometimes put on Christmas trees. Something so pathetic should have the decency to vanish by light of day. Very disappointing that it didn't.

Also, I'm in a bad mood because I woke so late. The afternoon was much to dark for the time of year. I wish March would fix itself up a bit.