It's getting hard to be a stalwart New Englander asserting that it is, after all, wintertime and in these parts it does snow in the winter. Under a dusting overnight, the driveway today was what my mother called "glare ice." The dusting kept Tracer and me from breaking our necks because it gave us something to grab -- he with little leathery pads and me with dependable Yak-Trax. It was sunny enough yesterday to let the salted town crumblage (whatever the substance is) soften a bit, so the edging tool broke some of that up in hopes the sun would attack any open space. But the sun was laid off not much past noon, and snow started to fall again. No need for color photography this afternoon -- the world is once again just black and white and 80 shades of gray. The snowdrops must be worrying by now.