It's the second snow of the season and it's really rather lackluster. When I arrived at work this morning, after being forewarned by the weatherman that we might get three inches of snow, I headed to the parking gargage. One of the last things I want to do at the end of a work day is brush snow off my car.
When I left work tonight the snow was coming down, but it wasn't sticking and it looked rather gloomy. I love a lusty snow storm when there are flakes wind-whipped to the ground with the fury of wet cat. That's the one thing about Chicago. It can certainly be ugly in the winter. The flat terrain, the grid of straight streets, the stucco houses that look dirty and lovelorn. By the time March arrives I'm about ready to hurl myself onto the El tracks being driven mad by the sheer greyness of the winter season here.
I grew up in New England and spent half my life in Boston and the other in Connecticut. Each season had it's beauty. The streets curved and it was always a mystery what you would see when you came around the corner. The terrain was hilly and houses old and quaint with lots of stories sitting inside them. I miss the sense of history and the smell of old houses. I miss a snow storm where you watch drifts swell on hills and in colonial fields. That's a great snow storm.