Snow day

The parked cars outside are all wearing their hats of snow: ten inches thick, maybe? As I walked from Medford to Davis Square, all the awnings were spilling white feathery cascades, and all the shopkeepers were scraping their snow shovels against the sidewalks. I stopped into Diesel for a mochaccino and a blueberry muffin: precisely what I needed to fortify me for the long remainder of my trip home, which I spent reading the second Temeraire book, ensconced in a toasty bus that crept along the streets and dropped me off three hours after I'd left work. People are united in purpose during a snowstorm, and despite the potential for grumpiness they seem friendlier, more willing to smile and shake their heads in shared rue.