Originally Posted by
Karen
If I took a photo now it would be all white as the snow is falling and drifting this way and that, sideway, upwards, every whim of the wind pushes in a different direction. The camera cannot capture the whimsy and wonder of a winter storm at night, with the hush of the snow fall, and glittering flakes as the streetlights try to make a path to the ground, but the light is reflected and refracted a millions way by a billion flakes, and the night is bright as day, and the sky reflects an odd pink from the city lights.
The only sound is the scrape of plows in the distance and the whisper and rush of wind, pierced suddenly and briefly by the peal of the back-up beeps as a plow attempts a different angle, doing its best to manage the unmanageable.