snow's been hard to come by this winter, has had my nerves all mixed up -- at least, hard to come by in the way that we like it: the fluffy sort, the lasting sort, the papa's-home-to-play-with-us-sort. my bones beckon: come, snow. come.
come she did, in the small hours, and we woke to a snowy weekend morn. perfect. our waking hour a symphony of frothing milk and bub's babbles, radiator hiss and shovel-on-sidewalk. joyous. we bundled and we strolled, our wee winter prince looking 'round curiously, deep into central park for second coffee and pain au chocolat. delicious.