It’s snowing.
Not the faint flurries that speak softly of the downly blankets to come… no, not these. These are big, gloppy, frozen clumps of fluffy, white stuff — crazed, drifting vollies — resolute in their intent to bring on that white winter; to make it begin.
This is not, the weather-casters assure, a repeat of the scary Hallowe’en Nor’easter that raged in 1991… (spawning a great book, and a mediochre movie) but a mere superstorm (if that).
Still and all, those tumbling flakes outside my window have a tale to tell… and they’re mad with enthusiasm to tell it.
