Entre snowflakes and haar

The weather has flourished its editorial powers on our lives this weekend, punctuating each day how it will, dropping periods and commas into our plans. Hail, rain, wintry mix, fat snow, fast snow, blue skies, and gray: we had it all this weekend. Strangest of all, it has been exclaiming, too, with lightning and thunder over the snowy streets. Yes, the snow actually stuck.

The first flakes were solitary and light


their pristine brightness cornering into the smallest of spaces,


and the absolute brilliance of this instant of calm brought in a new season tenderly, with grace.


You must realize, of course, that snow is a small miracle here, let alone the four to five inches we collected this weekend; the county is soundly unprepared to take care of the sidewalks and roads. We've been penguin-walking on landscapes of ice some days, and tip-toeing to avoid inches of gray slurp others.


It took five minutes flat for the world to change from puffy clouds to a swirling blizzard. My friend and I got to watch as the haar, the famous Scottish fog, came off the sea, bold and dense, like a movie in fast forward. I've seen it only twice, and it is phenomenal.

Here's how it happens: one minute, the sky is happy and blue,


and then there is a dark haze.


Watch that line right under the horizon; that's the fog line pushing forward the nearly-opaque mass.


We found ourselves speed-walking away from the sea, trying to avoid being parenthesized by the tight gloom.


It's a spectacular, if not intimidating sight, that haar. How Scottish.

When we're out in the harshness, we double the socks and gloves. But right now,we are warm and safe inside, thankful for the added brightness outside. Walker's working in perfect paper-writing conditions, and I've just enjoyed the warmth of an armful of clean laundry. With the peace of snowflakes pouring down in the nasty cold, being cuddled on the couch is all the more pleasant.


There is something entirely comforting and satisfactory about boots piled by the door, coats pushing each other off their hooks, and a tightly closed door.


The seasons have swapped, and although I'm snowed in from my Christmas tree search, we are in awe of this white gift.


Post-script (which I never do): as I was wiping the counter tonight, it almost sounded like our doorknob was being shaken. Check out this hail! We're talking a centimeter in diameter; Walk and I both thought it looked like massive dippin' dots!


Goodnight from Candyland!