Wintry bliss of a morning when you could actually see the sunrise, and the bare branches and boughs of trees were still for a change. But a moment later, with nary a cloud in sight, it begins to rain small neat little balls of not-quite-hail and not-quite-sleet but perhaps a bit of both. The little balls pile up tidily over each other to form little mounds, and these little mounds connect. On the roads they form a crunchy slush, and on the grass and cars and rooftops why, it looks like it has snowed.
An Arctic Blast. That is what the news tells us all. But who can believe the news nowadays. Did you know humans produce an obscene amount of garbage? The sheer numbers of this will astound and depress you. All to make money. Millions of phones, billions of clothes, all cheap and break easily, to make one man a multi-billionaire, and to make us want more and buy more and waste more and need more. Things are made to break quickly these days so you can buy another of the thing and keep the profit-makers in… profit.
But, a profound thought hits me as I watch the not-sleet-not-hail bounce off the tarmac and patter on bright red maple leaves. I think to myself, well, the world is not meant to last forever.
Ocean Bream 