It snowed this morning, just barely.
There are fires up north, in Canada, and I thought the snow might've been ash sprinkling from the sky, that's how spare the snow was. Barely there at all. It's May, which makes the snow uncommon, but people on the radio, and people in person've been speculating after it for weeks now.
There are fires up north, in Canada, and I thought the snow might've been ash sprinkling from the sky, that's how spare the snow was. Barely there at all. It's May, which makes the snow uncommon, but people on the radio, and people in person've been speculating after it for weeks now.
“It's nice now, but it could still snow! It's Vermont, after all.”
“I love this weather, but I'm prepared to drag my starts in any time now, you never know, it's Vermont, after all.”
“I love this weather, but I'm prepared to drag my starts in any time now, you never know, it's Vermont, after all.”
All that hedging, and still people act surprised.
Well, maybe not surprised, but resentful.
Maybe not resentful, but disappointed.
Maybe not resentful, but disappointed.
For every time I've been stuck inside when I'd rather not be I've watched a drop fall just as I went in after some long, sunny labor.
Like everything in this universe the weather isn't vindictive or unkind, but it is ironic and it does have a sense of humor, and humor isn't always nice, though it is kind, mostly.