There are times when I find myself more inclined to write "Momentary Kvetch."

Like today, when I walked under a snow-laden evergreen, and felt a drop of liquid ice drip down my neck.

Or on behalf of a neighbor around the corner, whom I passed today digging out her parking space for the second time this storm: once after the snow stopped falling, and again after the plows pushed their load into her hard-earned spot.

And on behalf of my arms, which spent much of the past two mornings picking up one cubic foot of snow at a time and dumping it onto the growing mountain range of white that used to be our front yard. 

But then I remind myself that it is January after all (albeit with a vengeance). And I remember that snow does have its moments.

Like earlier this week, before we were dumped on yet again …

(Wait a second, let me put on my "Momentary Joy" glasses and try again.)

Like earlier this week, on a barely double-digit morning, when I walked out back and felt the cold, dry snow squeaking underfoot. Our snow-covered driveway literally sparkled: blue and green flashes glinting like sequins in the sun. Looking out on an expanse of snow on a cloudy day, you can easily forget about the tiny crystals that lie within. When the sun hits those thousands of facets, it's hard to see anything else.

        Snow lays out a beautiful white blanket that soon gets a bit rumpled, but even that has its charms. As I looked beyond the glinting crystals, I could see who else had been by: a squirrel, a dog, a human, and even a human on bike. I like tracing the tracks, and remembering who else shares my patch of earth.

As the storm wound down Wednesday night my husband turned out all the lights downstairs so we could see just how bright a snowy night is. I was amazed. It looked more like 11 a.m. instead of 11 p.m. 

We stood looking out, and listening to the snowy quiet. 

So peaceful.

Further kvetch averted, for now.

Critter meets human meets bicycle.