I often feel a bit of a broken record when it comes to weather talk. Then again it is a British pastime. It's small talk, something to break the ice at a bus stop. Back in 2008 a survey concluded that the top British trait was talking about the forecast even if the weather is pretty, on the whole uneventful although it's constantly changing. It's a love that surpasses curtain twitching, watching soaps and our love of queuing. Sadly American's, maybe even the rest of the world don't share that same appreciation or obsession, call it what you will, so I let it all out on social media.
So for that reason, it would be very un-British of me to not mention the third highest snowfall experienced in Detroit at the beginning of February. It dumped the most snow since 1974. Quite impressive. Across 24 hours we reached the wintry depths of 16" of the white stuff. Drifts of snow marked their way across our street, into our garden. At the time of writing this, there stands a thigh deep drift on our deck, so much so that I can't open on of our back doors due to it's weight.
This all coincided with a couple of inches of snow falling on my British hometown and watching it grind to a halt from afar. Oh England.
I have to admit I was quite in awe, especially as it was the most snow I've ever experienced, in one storm that is. There is something magical about snow when it's so untouched, white and sparking. You catch a glint of a twinkle while you're shoveling and it glistens like glitter. But a week on and it's a mushy brown squishy melting mess.
Nevertheless, Michigan Central Station looked super pretty in the snow if nothing else.
No comments:
Post a Comment