dear internet,

since yesterday we've had a constant crosshatch of rain and hail. in the morning yesterday it was briefly, properly snowing, and i leaned outside to hear what has become a favourite sound, the quiet, dull, background static of snowfall. the sky is white today in a way that feels rich, like a fresh roll of chart paper or the frosting on carrot cake, and a few stray flakes continue to throw themselves against my windows. yesterday i walked past someone who'd stopped in front of the church to take a photo of the moon, and so i stopped ten feet ahead and did the same, and then my phone died and i walked home in silence, the wind scalding my cheeks. every conversation these days feels like this new pornographers song: we sit around and talk about the weather / my heart just like a feather / really, really light.

love,
t