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It makes a change from the freezing seas
Indeed, it is snowing. I left the house through drifts that came up past my knees. I took my camera.
Early in the morning, before the snow really got going.
Later in the afternoon, when the going had been got.
For the first time all winter, I had to leave the house wearing my leather jacket instead of corduroy. It did not occur to me to take a picture of the drifts past my knees, but our street had been ploughed in only the most technical sense—it was actually blocked by a car that had stalled out sideways in the snow a few houses down from ours; the hood was up and the driver was on the phone—and most of the side streets presented the same slogging prospect.
I liked the lighting of snow against the brick. Not pictured: the two people who went by the end of the street on skis.
I liked the reflection, too: a pane of winter. Gerda, look behind it for Kay.
It wasn't quite whiteout conditions, but the end of School Street disappeared in the snow.
By way of postscript, the counterpoint to this morning.
By the time I returned, the third-floor neighbors were heroically clearing the thigh-high drifts between our front door and the merely ankle-high drifts of the street; I offered a hand, was assured they had it under control, related my parents' story of moving up from Philly just in time for the Blizzard of '78 to the neighbor who was shouting with each shovelful, "Why did I move to Boston?" It is still snowing, clouds and snow-wreaths skirling in the streetlight. I feel I should be watching Scott of the Antarctic (1948). I believe the plan for tonight is actually Ice Station Zebra (1968).
Early in the morning, before the snow really got going.
Later in the afternoon, when the going had been got.
For the first time all winter, I had to leave the house wearing my leather jacket instead of corduroy. It did not occur to me to take a picture of the drifts past my knees, but our street had been ploughed in only the most technical sense—it was actually blocked by a car that had stalled out sideways in the snow a few houses down from ours; the hood was up and the driver was on the phone—and most of the side streets presented the same slogging prospect.
I liked the lighting of snow against the brick. Not pictured: the two people who went by the end of the street on skis.
I liked the reflection, too: a pane of winter. Gerda, look behind it for Kay.
It wasn't quite whiteout conditions, but the end of School Street disappeared in the snow.
By way of postscript, the counterpoint to this morning.
By the time I returned, the third-floor neighbors were heroically clearing the thigh-high drifts between our front door and the merely ankle-high drifts of the street; I offered a hand, was assured they had it under control, related my parents' story of moving up from Philly just in time for the Blizzard of '78 to the neighbor who was shouting with each shovelful, "Why did I move to Boston?" It is still snowing, clouds and snow-wreaths skirling in the streetlight. I feel I should be watching Scott of the Antarctic (1948). I believe the plan for tonight is actually Ice Station Zebra (1968).
no subject
Yeah, my parents took a lot of photos of me up until I was 7 or so. I remember the picture of my mom standing next to a snowdrift over her head that had a waist high ridge, and she put me on the ridge beside her. And it's not that I directly remember that but I remember remmebering the excitement of the unfamiliar coldness and how high I was off the ground.