Snow and Arty Pretentiousness
I realize that I am inviting some sort of insane, winter-related bad luck and schadenfreude aimed my way by typing this, but I feel like I am sailing through this winter beautifully. Very little slipping, no falling, plenty of walking, and for the most part, the cold has been refreshing, not painful. No chills, only one head cold so far. A lot of cuddling with Floyd, a lot of tea, a lot of reading.
Even my elderly car, whose “Service Engine Soon” light usually comes on in late November and stays on until late March, has decided to go with the flow. No “DANGER!” lights, no knocking (other than the usual).
And, so far, the perfect amount of snow in the city. Nothing huge and unmanageable, just enough to remind you that yes, it is winter in Buffalo. Just enough to keep it pretty.
Well, I am feeling all arty and pretentious. I am thinking about writing some angsty poetry and then incorporating it into an angsty pencil drawing. You know how I do.
Even my elderly car, whose “Service Engine Soon” light usually comes on in late November and stays on until late March, has decided to go with the flow. No “DANGER!” lights, no knocking (other than the usual).
And, so far, the perfect amount of snow in the city. Nothing huge and unmanageable, just enough to remind you that yes, it is winter in Buffalo. Just enough to keep it pretty.
Well, I am feeling all arty and pretentious. I am thinking about writing some angsty poetry and then incorporating it into an angsty pencil drawing. You know how I do.
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