I've been tracking the storm on radar. There it goes, a wide green weal, slinking across the Mid-Atlantic. The Eastern Seaboard is lit up like a Christmas tree with warnings: red for blizzard, orange for severe winter storm, pink for snow. I wonder who chose the colors, and why. Maybe his daughter's favorite sled is pink. Maybe red is the color of the extra blanket he digs out from under the bed when it's cold.
I've also been following the storm on the Internet. On Facebook, pictures of snow blanket the Newsfeed. Ice was on A's road home. B put chili in the crockpot and her feet up on the couch and is watching the white come down. J, in Boston, is making a last-minute run to the grocery store ahead of the front. C is thrilled.
My mother-in-law sent pictures. A record, where she lives:
It's snowing here, too. The faintest drizzle, a few white flakes that might be rain. The roads are clear, and it was warm enough for me to do a quick three miles running down the back streets under the grey. There's a pot of stew on the stove. There's tea. Three library books, boiled wool slippers, and snow, hard, elsewhere.