Late Thursday afternoon following a meeting in Washington DC, I met up with my companion and we walked thorough Georgetown's streets to a canal side bar. It was warm and springlike. Sat at an outdoor table and watched the sunset reflections flash and fade from the windows across the narrow channel as the old brick buildings grew dark in the dusk. We didn't need our light jackets as we strolled the lamplit sidewalks back to the car.
But early on Friday morning, the thermometer on my dashboard display dropped by one degree every seven miles as I drove north to Pennsylvania, and just past Baltimore, the rain became sleet then snow. By the time I crossed the Susquehanna at Columbia and took the exit ramp to head over Chickie's Hill, the barren trees wore white garlands, and the ground was mottled with light, fluffy snow. When I got home, I brewed a pot of coffee then sat down at my writing desk by the living room window, watching the snow swirl down on the hedge out in the yard. It didn't last long, but after it tapered off, the sky remained wild and torn with passing clouds.
When I left to drive across the county for a mid day meeting, a stiff wind was tossing delicate streamers of half melted snow from the treetops. Patchy sunlight refracted through the twigs and branches still coated in delicate translucent crystals. It took my breath away. Then it was gone.