Lamb Stew.

A deep thick cloud cover to start the day and then: snow. Not of the sort that made me want to find bags of cement to put in the truck bed over the back tires in the hopes I wouldn't go skidding off into the tobacco fields or the parking lots of any of the prefab churches between home and school, but, fans and friends of weather, actual snow, sort of. BBs of snow. Probably several hundred of them, even. At the height of the storm, I could actually hear the snow ticking down on the seven billion sweetgum leaves I'm currently storing on the back patio (Because who knows? I may require them for something).

It is now sunny and nearly 50 degrees, for those of you scoring at home.

One last holdout here at 27244, down at the front right corner of our building: A Japanese Maple gone so red that at first you're not sure what you're looking at. About ten feet tall. Red.

This morning's weather made me want for London, or the version of it, at least, from my two Januarys there, made me want for some tiny pub three blocks off the main road, wood floor and rugs and a coal fire, a lunch of lamb stew and a pint of bitter. Much as I love this place, I seem of late to be wanting other places, too. In an unrelated matter, the timer for the lights on the front of the house seems not to be working, which is good. I need something to obsess about which I also fundamentally misunderstand. Electricity makes the timer work. It must be, then, that the electricity is broken.