December

It's the first, there's snow on the ground, and Boise's drivers are, as usual, mimicking Giraffes on skates.  Artards.

It snowed about an inch last night and the missus and I went on a walk, enjoying the exquisite effect of snow falling on our heads, a soft coat of flakes settling on hats and shoulders.  The streetlights threw a wonderful amber that highlighted the hundreds of flakes that entered and left the cone of light in masses.  It felt like I was in my own little snow globe.  We stopped to gape in wonder until I realized my nostrils were slowly freezing over.  Gotta keep moving!

We passed a field with horses huddled close together, their shapes a dark, twitching mass against the white around them.  I notice the utter stillness of the air, the muffled crunching sounds of our footsteps in the snow, and the twin beams of the odd car approaching out of the night.  It was beautiful.

Of course, this morning, all this beauty devolves into a sludge of brown, white, and black on and to the sides of the roads as passing vehicles' tirees churn it all up.  Recent arrivals from California are driving in their first snow and as befits Californians, they are reckless and braindead, causing accidents all over town.  R. and I leave the house much earlier than usual this morning in an attempt to avoid the inevitable mess.  The roads are slick so we take it very slowly.  I'm dropped off at work and with the memory of the recent accident still on my mind, I make R. promise to call when she gets to work.

She does, and life goes on.