Yesterday afternoon in near- but above-freezing air, I dug up some lilies to clean out their pot (either Dunyazade or Black Beauty, I forget). I broke up a broken terra cotta pot and tidied, inpected the fig for signs of life, and sniffed the air for promised snow.It started to fall late last night, and by this morning:
Oh, happy day! I can hear the moan of a snowplough somewhere near. Not for us the paralysis of London under 3". The terrace has 10" by my measuring, at 10am in the morning and flakes are still floating from the sky.
I can hear the scrape of shovels on the sidewalk, and when they are clear I will venture out into wonderland. 
There is a greater-horned snow rhino on my stone table. 
An hour ago. 
Inside, snug as the proverbial bug.
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