Someone must constantly be shaking it too, because almost every time I glance through one of our windows there is more white stuff fluttering (or careening) toward the ground like dandruff flaking onto a black shirt, only much less icky and sometimes dumping out as fast as a sack of rice.
I understand that these words (snow! potatoes! dandruff!) are like stinging nettles to desperate snow-mavens in other parts of the country, where sledding and powder days have been replaced by freezing rain and icy roads. I'm sorry that the cottony-color of your dreams has faded into a dry, pallid, septic system brown. That stinks.
It really might, now that I think about it. (How does that septic man do it?!)
There are things that you can do with snow, and one week ago today, I was at a snowmobile race - my very first, actually.
No, I'm lying. I, like any oxygen-breathing person, follow the sled circuit like a gas powered madwoman.
Aaand my pants are burning.
Anyway, the best part of the whole day was surprisingly not the hours I spent standing on a frozen lake, but was in fact 15 or so short minutes I stood watching a small circus of 4-7 year olds (Yes, FOUR) speed along on an itty-bitty race course riding snowmobiles the size of Hot Wheels.
My, what tiny little windshields you have.
This was life-changing. Some of the kids were creeping slowly around the circle, totally unaware of the two or three pint-sized astronauts piloting rockets dangerously close to their arms and legs. These few were flying. Tiny flyers who had clearly lost their minds, but not their grip on the throttle.
After this, C and I drove downriver to get groceries, then I snapped a picture of this on the way home.
It's fuzzy, but yeah, those are coyotes.
You know, just a million dead coyotes. Totally normal.
Then, two days later, someone shook the snow globe again.