Clouds hide the stars and the helicopters
Yesterday we had entertained plans to hit up a park or the grounds of a museum, but with the sudden advent of snow in the afternoon, the day turned instead into a combination of grocery errands and returning the car to my mother. The Star Market in Porter Square was a vortex. When we separated briefly for the classic last-minute dash after a forgotten item, the cashier in ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch's lane had to semaphore across the crowd in order for me to locate him. I did manage to collect two books I had ordered from Porter Square Books, Hope Mirrlees' Paris: A Poem (1919) and Gillian Freeman's The Leather Boys (1961). Because rain in winter now feels ominous as well as insulting, I was disappointed that by the end of the night the flurries had deliquesced into slush and puddles and wet needles of streetlight. I am no longer disappointed. It is not just flurrying out there, it is thickly drifting in a way that makes me worry about the existence of shovels in this building. I may go out and trudge through it. The cold seasons have always been my favorites and I am already missing them.
P.S.
spatch's lane had to semaphore across the crowd in order for me to locate him. I did manage to collect two books I had ordered from Porter Square Books, Hope Mirrlees' Paris: A Poem (1919) and Gillian Freeman's The Leather Boys (1961). Because rain in winter now feels ominous as well as insulting, I was disappointed that by the end of the night the flurries had deliquesced into slush and puddles and wet needles of streetlight. I am no longer disappointed. It is not just flurrying out there, it is thickly drifting in a way that makes me worry about the existence of shovels in this building. I may go out and trudge through it. The cold seasons have always been my favorites and I am already missing them.P.S.
