Yesterday morning I woke up to snow. Probably no more than an inch. A brisk wind had scoured the railings on the deck, so it was hard to gauge the amount. Enough to cover the grassy hill leading up to the right-of-way.

No one had predicted this, the first measurable snowfall of the winter. In early December a dusting evaporated off the grass in the afternoon sunlight. Aside from that we haven't glimpsed a flake in this part of the northeast. It has been unnaturally warm. Hardly a day has passed when temperatures haven't reached the forties and we've had fifties and even a sixty degree day.

It failed to get up to freezing yesterday. The meteorological word is that we may have a brief reprieve over the weekend but by next week the cold will finally settle in. By then, though, the winter will have been shortened by a good six or seven weeks, unless it decides to linger through March as occasionally happens.

I shouldn't complain. I was braced for winter at the end of November. By this morning my defenses were down. I knew we couldn't go through a year without any winter Still, there's always hope.

Through the office window I watched a tiny bird hopping around the roof, picking through the snow for whatever might have blown off the nearby trees I guess. The wind ruffled its feathers. I felt cold just looking at it.