The Sound of Snow

I was trying to come up with the sound of snow for the heading of this entry, but I'm at a loss. There's definitely a flutter or a whisper. Of course there's the crunch of it beneath your feet, the whoosh of it when I'm throwing of hunk of it at Adam, and the groan of it as it's melting and sliding off the roof. I'm still amazed by the snow. Just the sheer fact of it. Today was a pajama day all around. In Seattle, you had crappy day after crappy day of rain, but it was the kind of rain you could still be productive in, the kind of rain that just made you vow that this would be your last year in Seattle as you went about your normal run/work/errands/play (and, of course, once the sun poked out in July, you once again swear your eternal devotion to the most beautiful, most glorious city anywhere on earth). But here, the weather is entirely different. Today, so far, we've had about six inches of snow, and it just keeps coming. I sat at my desk in my flannel p.j.s (a Hanukah gift from Adam), alternately finishing up a freelance job and staring out the window at the wintriness of it all. Snow in New York was a completely different experience--it wasn't as complete. Here, the limbs of our tree in the front year are bowed nearly to the ground under the weight of the snow. Mounds, as tall as me, line our front yard where the plow piled it up. After I finished work, Adam and I bundled up and walked down to civilization to pick up a DVD and buy food for dinner. Swaddled in so many clothes made me vaguely remember my mother dressing me in layers and layers when we lived in Westchester, and how I would waddle around, feeling itchy beneath the clothes. I still feel itchy beneath the clothes.