Yesterday it snowed in Chicago all the day long. It was white, and then blustery, and then more white upon more white snow.
The silvery blue gleam of the Trump Tower disappeared from view, and at one point looking out my apartment window was oddly akin to looking out of an airplane window when you're going through a cloud. Strange feeling, that.
Yet today, it's settled, streets scraped, sidewalks salted, and the city never missed a beat.
Back at Timber Pointe, where we spent Christmas, the snow brings a greater power.
The power of the unplowed wooded drive, the power of a forest full of snow-gilded branches, the power of the still and quiet.
Neal and I just had to venture out for a couple walks in that other-worldly place.