Powder

My whore red tea kettle passionately moaned the siren song of lapsang souchong. Stepping out with Milarepa-yes, it's true, I let the dog out-my feet sank down into six inches of of soft white before kissing the ice crust of base underneath. With a smirk of wicked joy I looked up at the bright diamond-dust coated peaks. After nineteen warm and dry days, snow had returned to my mountains.

One of my meteorological prophets, of whose oracles I consider a go-to, had almost audible excitement in his typed voice as he described the conditions. More snow is foretold in coming days. I have use for my snowshoes once more, and I couldn't be happier.