It's going to snow tomorrow

My Swedish and French neighbours were sitting around my table, the remains of a raclette in the centre as we finished our dessert.

Sylvie announced the meteo for Monday. Her partner Alain shuddered. He had lived in Haiti for years and is definitely a warm weather person. The two of them and their dogs had been gone a year, taking their boat across the Atlantic and back.

Bjorn and Kristin, were no happier, having come down from Sweden to work on their future retirement home and to escape their own too-long winter.
When the rain pounded on my roof, Alain, the ever hopeful one, "It is too warm too snow."
Sylvie placed her faith in the meteo report she had heard.

Thus, this morning, when I woke, the roof across the street was white. Now compared to living in New England, nor my daughter's recent imprisonment in her apartment in Washington DC with dwindling supply of ice cream, the snow is nothing. But for the south of France, it is a big, big deal.

Thus today will be a writing day. I have some corn chowder on the stove, the score from the Double Life of Veronica is filling my flat with haunting music, and my New England/Swiss soul is happy.

Note: The angels are for you Rose.