The wind blows out of the east and I start the off with lapsang souchong tea. One of those days. A couple of inches of goose down floats along the air currents in the manner of willow-the-wisp.
Inside, the DJ alternates between bluegrass and Ravi Shankar. Fantastic. Down below, trained meteorological professionals wax 'pocalyptic about this turn of events. Feast or famine. Some people are never satisfied.
It's a little. Probably not enough in the grand scheme. In the moment, perhaps it doesn't matter. There's a certain beauty and silence. Everything is made new under a blanket of fresh white.