Why does it so happen that every time I look in the mirror and decide I should be more active, and think about purchasing a basketball, or formulate a running route alongside the East River, I am welcomed into the world the following morning by a small blanket of snow?
Not even a substantial, or “significant,” or, and I swear I’ve heard this, “impressive” accumulation.
‘Cause to me that’s sorta idyllic and calming, when snow is general all over everywhere.
No, when I want out, New York City will get just enough snow such that it is both impossible for me to get outdoor exercise, for fear of slipping, while annoying me by melting pretty quickly, transforming into slush, and forever wetting the cuffs of my pants.
Sorry, T.S., February is the cruellest month. 50 degrees one day, then SNOW by the weekend. It’s the moody (not the medically diagnosed moody, I mean the immature moody) friend you don’t want to call for fear of catching him on a “bad” day.
That’s no way to live. Thank goodness the month is only 28 days, and OVER.
Bring on Spring.
I don’t miss the snow–I lived in Rochester, and in 3 months–back to the west coast I went! That was too much ‘impressive accumulation’ for my blood.
I wanted to drop by and say thanks for the link–so a graceful thank you it is (there’s no accounting for taste! ;)
Stop by sometime and say hi!