If it wasn't for the winter of 1938-39, this one would have set some records for snowfalls. Curse those pre-war winters. A blight on history's eye.
Anyways, all this snow has allowed me to become re-acquainted with the pleasantness of snowstorms and such. Really snowstorms aren't quite the same up north. The snow up there doesn't so much fall, as come at you. Sometimes it doesn't even do that, but just seems to manifest out of thin air in the form of drifts. Rock hard drifts. But down here it's so nice! Beautiful. I've had to walk through so much of it this winter.
I see all the people driving by and they look miserable. Admittedly it must suck to drive in all these snowstorms. They should just crash their car into the next telephone poll, get out, turn their mp3 to some pretty girl singing pretty songs over some folk rock band (Ladies might prefer a pretty boy singing pretty songs over some folk rock band. The important part is the folk rock band), and look up at the snow falling down among the street lamps. It becomes impossible to look past the excellence in everything.
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