I have a bit of a religion about snow.
Even when I moved to Seattle, years ago, snow was rarer here than in the Midwest. I wrote three short stories in a row about snow. I’ve written a couple of stories about (not quite) freezing to death in the snow since. The second book in the septet, The Deer Stalker, has a significant set of scenes set near Snoqualmie Pass, in the snow.
This year, my neighborhood has gotten nearly no snow.
But this evening, it’s snowing.
It had to wait to Imbolc, but it’s snowing.
The stuff in the air in the photo is flying snowflakes.
