P.S. And then the snow finally arrived

That foreboding winter storm, incongruously identified with Hercules, finally arrived late Friday night. I would have preferred calling it after someone like Ganglati, servant to the goddess of the frozen northern underworld, Hel, but there you have it. Hercules. In the all-together. Pushing a snow shovel and not a broom. I’m not really sure exactly how much snow Hercules did manage to unleash before he slid back south for some mittens and a scarf, but it must be at least eight inches.
Hard to tell because it got pushed around a bit by the wind. An unhappy Boreas, I presume. But it wasn’t nearly the “snowmaggedon” being forecast by the frothing meteorologists on television.

As expected, though, the storm trailed some of that very bitter, bitter cold along behind it. Eleven point one degrees Fahrenheit overnight to be exact. That is impressively cold for New York City. Add some wind-chill frosting and I’ll be hibernating for most of the week-end. Except maybe for the Saturday morning farmer’s market conveniently just half-way down the next block. Don’t think there’ll be much of a crowd pressing around the farmer’s stalls this fine morning. It may be cold but it’s sunny and there should be fresh baked bread. If there are some farmers. Hopefully. They’re from up-state and usually very cold hardy. USDA Zone 5, or maybe even 4, I think.


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