Here in the western suburbs of Philadelphia this is what I awoke to on my screened in back porch. Guess we won't have a fire in the fireplace this afternoon as the wood is covered and we'd need to put our boots on to get it. Our dog Sheila (she's a ten-year-old Aussie Cattle Dog, seen below) loved it, as it was like being outside without being exposed to the elements, and so she treated the porch floor as she would the lawn, if you know what I mean.
Below she makes her way around our buried patio after the last storm a couple of weeks ago. Until this morning that's where all her little winter presents were scattered.
Her expression tells what she thinks of having to place her rump on the cold snow for this shot.
And this was when I still found something lovely in the whole thing, before the wet patches showed up on the living room ceiling from the ice damming in our unreachable gutters.
Because weather like this comes along only sporadically in my part of the country, I try to keep a mental picture of what it was like watching the snow swirl and looking out my window to find three-foot drifts in some areas and bare grass in others. I'll try to remember the needle pricks of the snow when I walked out to the mailbox or the way wet flakes dripped behind my glasses during the last storm making it impossible for me to see or the way the wet wood hissed and crackled when we tried to make a fire.
Luckily I remain safe and warm in my home, even if there is a leak here and there, but these experiences help me project myself into a less safe situation that might arise in one of my creations. For now, though, I will have to put that aside and go sweep out my porch before all that snow melts into big messy puddles.
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