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Yesterday was the first occurrence of snow that stuck to the ground. Temperatures plummeted and suddenly the complacent wind turned into some sort of fierce and discomforting breath. Patches of black ice scurried across roads. Tire skids demonstrated the idiocy of this year\'s orange-clad construction crew. Unnecessary curves turn sublime ditches into menacing magnets that lure metal chassis into their gaping maws. People tuck their heads into puffy black penguin coats and walk with long strides through vacant parking lots. Old men with prickly white chins shovel through the unpleasant powder, hurling it over their hunched backs. Grave diggers that sing no dirges, compose no eulogies. Mourn not. Waste not. My friends eagerly discuss the opening of ski resorts, so they can go snow boarding. Iron-clads in football jerseys complain that they will have to play their remaining games in this unrelenting winter. Sappy English teachers with ruddy faces compliment the newly born environment for its serene beauty, inwardly congratulating themselves on their impeccable use of figurative language and soiling the blanket they so cherish with their brown noses. Scientists are nauseated at how romantics cuddle and kiss this burdensome problem. The urge to assess mass, volume, weight, density drives them outside long enough only to collect a sample. Neither party seems to give much thought to holistic quality inherent in just about everything perceptible in this circle of illusion (drawn in chalk by careful hands and frequently smeared by reckless feet) known as reality.