March 08 2008, 10:07 PM The Sky Is Alive With Tiny Knives

At some point last week, the sun shining and the air sweet, I found myself upon a set of friends who had brought guitars and an accordion out into the afternoon sun. I watched for a moment, then went ambling on, to find my own sources. In parting, one of them mentioned a bet that no more would there be standing snow until next winter. I laughed. It was unkind of me, but I did.

This morning, the forecasters fretted openly about the day's skies; I sat on the porch with a cup and felt the air curl cold. I made it down to the markets a bit earlier than usual, and by then it was beginning to mist. After the walk from my parking space to the heart of the action, it was all decidedly dim, something that was flung into sharp focus my the sheer amount of light that was pouring from the shop window of the cheese counter room. By the time I had managed to get the cheese (rashera, and a bit of stuff for pizzas) and everything else, it was raining ice. Hard.

It was utterly absurd.

The sidewalks were instant rink, even for the frenetic efforts of those armed with brooms, shovels, salt. The Avenue became first slurry, then treachery, traffic easing to a careful plod. My hat was utterly inadequate. Still: there was little to do but wander out into it with squared shoulder, and for all of that it wasn't that bad. I had a big stupid grin on my face by the time I worked my way back up to the cafe by the bakery by the popcorn. After the cafe, what fell from the sky turned thickly to wet, plump, snow, and instantly all became cloaked in charm. It was reason enough to toss everything into the car and take a moment to watch the river roll by, the strange sound of snow on the water.

The drive home was amusing.

I should say up front that I learned to drive in these conditions - my very first lesson was in, if anything, worse weather. Driving around here in this stuff presents a particular set of problems, though, and I found myself plotting out the flattest route home that I could, unwinding grades like the rail engineers did, all those years ago. Added to this calculation was a preference for roads where traffic would be minimal, and people would not be tempted to go faster. It took a long time, but it wasn't taxing, and everything only got prettier as I went.

On a more directed note (should this pass Mr. Hermann's desk): I did have one encounter with a minivan. I was guiding the car along a flat bit of road that, on better days, purports to be two lanes. The single set of aggregate tire tracks betrayed that no one was putting up with that nonsense this afternoon, and I was happy to join that camp. The minivan behind me, not so much.

They were not so stupid as to tailgate, but they very much wanted to be someplace, so at one particularly unbusy bit they passed me, slowly, and I gave them much room. And slowed down further, because it only took them another hundred yards or so before they fished the back end right out from under themselves. But they recovered nicely. And they slowed down, too. And I still gave them plenty of room. And although they might have been on the phone before, they most certainly were not after. So there is hope.

Safe trip home.