When it snows like it is today I wonder if it’s ever going to let up—leaden, like a thick crushed velvet shroud, streaming in wild currents across a grayscale backdrop. Out of a blinding white sky flakes large and silvery as fifty-cent pieces descend in an infinite army, some driving hard or spinning in whirlpools, others bouncing around an invisible pinball machine. The damp weight of these trillions of feathery crystals snaps delicate budding fractals and burdens thick-fingered branching bows—engulfing everything in sight in a numbing, debilitating, suffocating white storm. How much it reminds me of Calvin’s seizures.
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