Little Clipper.

Which accounts for the cold, the clouds, the prospect of snow in D.C. and maybe snow showers in southern Virginia and yes, of course, the nine-year-old in me wants to wake up tomorrow to three or four inches of snow, but that happens so rarely any more. Used to be the forecast was inherently untrustworthy. We'd go to bed in Atlanta with the news saying six inches, eight, and wake up to sunshine and 50 degrees. Or they'd say rain, maybe a little freezing drizzle, and we'd get the Ice Storm of the Century. Even here in GSO they used to get it wrong, it seems like. It also seems like it used to snow for real here from time to time.

I shouldn't complain. It's unseasonably cool, and we don't get much of that, even. Hat and scarf weather. The dog looking back over her shoulder at me to see if I've noticed that it's chilly.

But my god everything in me could use a snow storm, a free day, a little something unexpected. There was a half-chance of snow in our forecast earlier. Now it's gone. Maybe that's a good sign.

It's winter. We've come through fall and we're into winter. It will, of course, be 70 degrees by the weekend.