I had half a blog written until a few minutes ago. It was incredibly boring, about squirrels and snowmelt. I absolutely hated it. So I deleted it, and now I'm stuck wondering how to replace it. I suppose a little of it was cute. We sat in the hot tub on a beautiful and warm day, watching squirrels eat the food we'd left out for them, and wondered how one of the squirrels managed to live as long as he had. He didn't hang upside down like all the others to pull kernels of corn off the cobs. He picked up the corn cages with his hands, and brought them to his face instead. And best we could tell, even after Mr X made a special barefoot-in-the-snow trip to refresh the feeder, this little guy never managed to successfully acquire food. He seemed clever but his attempts were futile. Shouldn't he have starved by now, if he couldn't figure out how to get free food?
I've written so much about my love of snow, I suppose it's expected that I'd feel compelled to wax poetic about slush too. But I'm really not fond of it. It's messy and gross and hard for me to walk on, which I tried to do today. I don't want to say pretty words about it. So I won't.
I found the creepiest snowman I'd ever seen on my way home from getting coffee. It was melty and lurching to one side, his face the stuff of nightmares. It was too cold to walk the last two or three days. I don't know how long ago someone made this scary yard art. I am left wondering whether Slushy the Snowman started out looking like the star of a horror movie, or did the sun do this to him. Now I can't unsee that face. It will haunt me.
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