hoogle

As I was about to crawl into bed with newfound contention, I noticed out my window a slight anomaly among the clear black night.

It was snowing.

And here I had been, not hours before, traipsing about in naught but my SpringWare, and now it was snowing.

To top it all off, it's the kind of Edward Scissorhands snow that leaves nothing behind. Thousands of feet it has to fall, and nothing to show for it. It could very well be ash, and I just hadn't heard that the inner city was demolished.

I felt it was worth mentioning.

I opened my window; the air smelled not of sorrow;
I will not read of death; when I wake in the morrow.