Two days ago, rain began falling across northern Vermont, pissing off ski enthusiasts. I became accustomed to the sound of water in the house's gutters, a quiet pulsing that can be heard inside the building -- not something I normally associate with this time of year. For a while there, it rained a fair amount, patches of bare earth surfacing as snow cover slowly thinned out.
Last night the temperature dropped, snow began falling during the wee hours. By daybreak, three or four inches had accumulated. It's continued coming down all day, wind blowing, visibility minimal.
Left the house a little before ten, made the drive into Montpelier for gym, errands. The roads: slow, sloppy, but not bad, all things considered. Got the impulse to come home via back roads, found everything quiet, few people about. Peaceful, me ogling hard-core winter scenery, stopping now and then to give the camera some exercise.
Got back here to find the power out, giving me a couple of hours to lay down on the couch and finish up a book I've slowly been plowing through. Within a minute of polishing it off, putting it down and getting up to stretch, the power came back on, one or two electronic items announcing their return from the dead with happy chirps.
The house is warm, lights have the space looking cozy. Outside, sheets of wind-driven white powder whip through the yard, the storm seems to be picking up. (Earlier, traffic at the bird feeder was brisk -- as the temperature fell and wind picked up, they gave up and sought cover.) Looks like a whole different world out there from the world I saw yesterday.
I sure as hell am not in Madrid any more.
This afternoon, East Montpelier, VT:
Madrid, te echo de menos.
rws 5:00 PM [+]
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