Snow (III).



The snow, dormant three days, now liquescent. The purity of the first fall is a memory, the mystical blanket dissolving to create its abysmal winter livery. Frozen, muddied snow lies dumped in indiscriminate and tedious heaps. Kerbsides, swamped in filthy sludge, make squelching protests as their slushy contents are distributed anew by commuters. A few trees and shrubs attempt to delay the inevitable, glueing snow to their boughs in the furthermost recesses, but soon, the grimy, soiled urban landscape returns to its customary, soulless existence. The magic was brief, but long enough to show that every ugly duckling can be a swan.


Photograph:’ snow-and-ice-darker-than-pavement’ courtesy of dcdailyphoto


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