Snow Hill

The people who lived here before us named this property Snow Hill. It isn't a particularly big hill, not even the biggest in the neighborhood, but the driveway is long and steep and winding, and in a big snowstorm we're generally stuck here until the plow arrives.

That's fine as long as the power stays on (which is iffy). A big storm on a weekend is a pleasure. There is enough wood in the woodpile, enough food in the refrigerator and pantry, enough wine in the cellar, and enough books and movies on the shelves (the DVD and video section of the library was mobbed this morning as people prepared to entertain themselves without going out).
Only two or so inches have fallen. It is not particularly pleasant outside, although it is beautiful. At 4 p.m. I walked out past the garden and into the woods. I could hear a car horn blow once in the distance, and a Carolina wren twittered. It is not at all a silent snowfall. The flakes are tiny and hard, and they hiss as they hit the trees.