Ah, winter in New England. Go home, winter, you’re already drunk and it’s barely December.
Last week we had a snowstorm and we were home-bound for three days. School was cancelled on Monday and Tuesday. I worked from home both days and slowly dug out in the afternoons.
A week later, temperatures reached 60° F. I was walking around in shorts and flip-flops. (I might be weird, but you have to admit that it wasn’t weather-inappropriate.) The clouds dropped two inches of water on us. With nowhere for the water to go, there are puddles and ponds everywhere.
Last night, the temperature rapidly dropped, the rain turned to snow, and we got a couple or more inches. At least the end of the day cleared up with some sun. The snowmelt, which became treacherous as night fell, was downright beautiful for a while.
Tonight, as I left the house to take the dog for an icy, slippery walk, I saw signs that we had some visitors during the day. A hawk snatched a meal from our front yard. Meghan left our Thanksgiving bundle of corn out for the birds and squirrels; it seems that we’re feeding the whole neighborhood instead.
By this weekend we’re expecting to be back in the 50s with more rain. The rollercoaster that is our local weather continues. Whee!
