A flake of snow just went by the window and we hardly recognized it. There is supposed to be some on the ground by the time this sees print. But who knows? We have gone so long practically without snow in this part of the snow belt that we won't believe it until we see it.
We sympathize with points west where snow has shown its true colors, or noncolors, by wreaking winter havoc. But we here didn't have a white Christmas; we had a warm Christmas. The snow tires thud grumpily on the bare pavement. The trees are blanketed with -- nothing.
Can it be possible that we miss snow?m Not necessarily. But we are reminded of its absence by the presence of the skiers who would otherwise be out of town. We hope for some cooperation by the weatherman at least for the Winter Olympics at Lake Placid.
Meanwhile, with the snow shovels resting in welcome disuse, it is easy to imagine the 19th-century poet snug like us as he pictures the snow "dancing, flirting, skimming along, beautiful snow, it can do nothing wrong."