Like birds it was against the wall

The sky and the snow outside are lavender. I don't mean this poetically; I mean they are the color of the blossoms when they shade toward grey, a little warmer and a little bluer than a lilac-pointed cat's fur. I figure it's the confluence of dusk and streetlight diffusing from the snow, but it is very beautiful nonetheless.

I made two trips out of the house today. (There were going to be three, but the state of Massachusetts is asking people to stay off the roads.) Around eleven in the morning, the sky was still light; flakes were just beginning to fall. By the time I left the house again around three in the afternoon, the sky was plate-grey and the snow was solid, the dense soft fall that doesn't blow around much: it is no-nonsense snow, filling up the spaces in everything as steadily as it can. The sidewalks were powder over dry glass. I walked in the slushy streets for better traction.

I have no idea what to do with my evening, except drink lots of hot liquids. Maybe I will actually watch something. Maybe I can write.