Last time I saw snow it was a balmy 46 degrees. The air was clean and sparkling and the sun was shining and the snow was soft and powdery and thick, like a blanket. I believe California law requires snow to exist in such conditions all the time. But well, Virginia isn’t California. So instead, I dealt with a gray, cold day where the high was somewhere around 25 and ice was on the sidewalks and the streets and schools had a two hour delay. Granted, the air might have been clean and sparkling – wait a moment while I pick myself up from laughing – but I can’t tell because I spend my days existing in a Zyrtec haze to ensure I have enough room in my nose and sinuses to breathe a little around all the congestion.

Ignore me. I’m just a crankpot when I come back from the west coast. I’m usually over it and enjoying the area after a few weeks have passed and I get over my longing to get on an airplane and head straight back. And it is pretty… at least out my front door and away from the street. Street side it’s gross. And you don’t want to see a picture of that.