Our lovely snowfall too quickly turned to ice.
Even pessimists have to head for the sunny side of the street if they want to get around safely.
The trees sparkle with diamond ice.
Most Southern cities don’t have adequate snow plow equipment. It’s expensive and sometimes years go by without a need for it. Everyone wants cleared streets, but not the higher property taxes needed to pay for it. Because of the inevitable thaw/freeze cycle, anything that isn’t plowed the first day is a sheet of ice by the next morning. Unplowable and unmaneuverable.
Better have bread and milk on hand for hostage situations with bored schoolchildren.
Our backyard looks like a repository of broken glass, places that our footsteps have crunched though the ice and refrozen. Granddog Ivy wiped out in her romp this morning, inhibiting her enthusiastic play, so she came to the back door for re-entry, grabbed a small red stuffed toy, and dashed back outside to play catch with herself. Smart pupster!
Miss Piggy went out only long enough to deposit her Tootsie Roll turds, then waddled carefully back inside.
Tigger and Eyeore in the icy Hundred Acre Woods.
Melt, baby, melt!
While some see inconvenience and lemons, the more creative have found opportunity and made lemonade. A snowman is the usual homage to weather, but some snow artists have created temporary masterpieces, like this scene our friend Hoot noticed on his way to work.
Is he hinting that this might be the kind of mystery cat roaming my neighborhood? I love the little dog.
It’s a doggone shame these critters have to melt!