Everything is flocked in sparkling white velvet. The smack of wet, sudden splotches on the windshield immediately swiped away, and repeat. Snow hyperspaces and dazzles. The slither and crunch of well-mixed packsnow rattles in the wheel wells. Sliding rubber grabs and fails, clutching only at my panicked heart. Recover, and drive on in the wet, woolly, pillowfought world.
The half hour slow slide from our house to the nearest exit where I could turn around and retreat, which usually takes 7 minutes, convinced me that driving to Malmö in a blizzard for dinner qualified as a bad idea. Even in a Volvo, Safest Car On The Planet.
An hour after I returned home, thinking, “I didn’t want to go anyway,” the snow stopped and the meltdown has already begun. Anders left at 9 to play hockey. I am completely unmotivated to tackle any of the items on my to-do list and am reading Tales From Earthsea by Ursula K. LeGuin instead.