a handful of starchips thrown/at the windowpane

[starfrosting]

It look 3 1/2 hours, twice as long as usual, but I got home, the bus crawling along the white expanse of the turnpike 20mph. And the snow whipping in the wind across the roads, the only place to walk a path through the mostly abandoned streets. She spreads Her white and quiets the city. It's soft and quiet even with the winds whipping, wheels spinning stuck in the snow, the way snowfall swallows sound. A little while ago there was even a close flash of lightning, one thick slow roll of thunder.



(title taken from diprima's loba; reading her "ballad of the last hippy xmas" she just sent around)