Snow stories.

On the corner of my street early this afternoon, it was like Snow Feeder Frenzy or something, is that a Playstation game? There were four megatrucks with megascoopers attached, all taking turns lunging toward the snow barricades. Rarr! Now instead of a length of snow-covered curb, there is a length of slush-covered curb, at the end of which is a very, very large pile of snow. It is as high as a bus, that is how large a pile of snow it is.

The snow on the monument at the Ninth Street entrance to the park has fallen such that the Marquis de Lafayette appears to be wearing a delightful fur stole. It suits him well.

Crunching deep footprints through the snow in the park in pink cowboy rainboots is like making my way across the thick, sweet frosting on top of the largest cupcake in the world. In front of and all around me, the icing sugar landscape of Long Meadow stretches far and away like the bakery of my dreams.

Under the black tree next to Dog Beach, someone has made a snow bear. He is reclining ever so slightly, and the smile on his face suggests he is thinking, quite serenely, about, perhaps, a roast snow rabbit dinner. The someone who has made this snow bear has also labeled him, in proud, standing-up snow letters at his feet: BEAR.