Dreaded White Stuff

It's a typical autumn afternoon for my neck of the woods. Shift-change traffic has been rumbling by the house for almost an hour, impeded by a local sheriff's deputy who has a van of teenagers pulled over on the hill in front of the house, causing the windows to rattle as the wheelers downshift and crawl up the hill. Shots echo occasionally from the small swamp in the back corner of the lower part of the farm -- bird hunters. (Unlike the automatic machine gun someone was testing in the gravel pit yesterday afternoon -- now there's a teeth-clencher!)

The snow is coming down steadily in big, fat clumps of flakes. The sky is the color the mystery writers call 'leaden,' a medium-dark gray. It's nipply out, too. I can see the deputy rubbing his shaved head to wipe off the melting snow -- he's been yelling at one of the kids in the back of the van, from the looks of it. I've had run-ins with this kid before and he isn't pleasant (the deputy -- not the kidlet in the van). Then again, having raised more than my fair share of step-teens, I'm sure the kidlet has mouthed off once too many times in the past and is reaping his just rewards.

Did I mention the bloody snow? The Mrs. called in a panic about 3 PM as she hates driving in this stuff, being a delicate hothouse Louisiana Cajun gal, don'tcha know? I reminded her she'd tamed blizzards in the same vehicle last winter and she can just 'cowboy up' (as the Red Sox were saying all season) and deal. (On second thought, I suspect it's going to be a mite frosty inside as well as out tonight after she gets home. Maybe I ought to order some flowers to go with that foot-in-mouth I'll be gnawing for dinner?)

That's what life looks like in my neighborhood this afternoon. Whassup in your hood, homey?