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12-11 And again, it snows. This time it's briskly cold, so the snow remains underfoot. And indeed, under, over, left right in everything, because the wind buffets it about so much. Out in the open, it provides visual proof of the winds' intricacy, as snow is pushed and pulled back and forth in strange convections and eddies. In places like those between certain buildings where the wind has no domain, the snow falls gently, as if it really is just being dropped from the sky. Surely snow appeals to my penchant for the surreal. There were hints of it yesterday, and of course I remember previous snowfalls, but it's as if suddenly the world is utterly, essentially different. All the landmarks are still there beneath it all, but everything is hidden. Vast stretches become blank, at first seemingly undifferentiated, but actually subtly rolling, a visual indication of the density and volume of snow that's landed. And the sky, the sky - rain is almost never like this, indicating the possibility that maybe the world is more wonderful than we think. At the best, when it falls completely under its own volition (with gravity's aid), it's as if time has slowed, almost stopped, with the flecks of white suspended in the air. When I was in kindergarten we were supposed to bring in words every day. My dad always told me to bring in "blustery". He was right - it's a good word. 12-9 It's snowing again today. The temperature hovers just around the threshold between freezing and melting, so that the snow falls barely-formed from the sky, like grains of sand or soap. And it leaves behind mostly just wet sidewalks. But this afternoon, leaving my apartment, it was just cold enough for a fine dust of the stuff to linger on the cement and grass. It was very quiet, save for a deadened sort of tinkling, brushing sound - the sound of the snow landing.