It strikes me as odd that I should wake up three days in a row, in May, to snow. While I often revel in the idea of living in the Great White North, I do like my spring and summer. At this time of year, I expect to be in a landscape of blooming flowers, and warm temperatures. Evidence indicates that this is not happening at all.
It has been one heck of a year so far, and I guess I shouldn’t find it so strange. We would be foolish to think that the locking down of factories, airplanes, and so many more things would not have an effect on the environment. Like dropping a big rock into a pond, things don’t adjust to calm immediately. It takes time.
As for me, I found Monday morning’s snow to be quite pretty. I watched it fall as I leisurely ate my breakfast and drank my coffee. I had time to ponder the mess we are in and its many ramifications. I didn’t find any answers. I had time to ponder my new dreams of woodworking and making things. No answers there either.
The snow looked pretty.