sugared

Friday night as I carried Buckwheat out to his run, I looked around at the eerie low clouds, and the smothered yellow light of street lamps. Quietly and quickly as possible, I tiptoed back into the house and shut the door, locking it. Then repeated when the pup was satisfied with his encounter with nature's wild and needed to be warmed again by the blanket-warm indoors. Saturday morning we awoke to powdery white trees, grass, fences, and rooftops. Snow hadn't come our way, but fog? Yes.

Saturday morning, as the haze thinned, we took note of all it left in its wake: sugar. Or at least it appeared like everything had received a nice dusting of sugar. We all hopped in the car and went out for a drive to Turtle River to get a good long stare at this wintery silvery splendor.