far too much writing, far too many photos

My nighttime hours continue to be packed with dreams. It seems like all I have to do to get them cranking is lie down and close my eyes. Last night, far as I remember, all my co-stars in the various tales — in fact, everyone, from co-stars to extras — were folks I’ve never met in the 3-D world. Who are they all? Where do they come from? Is there a cosmic central casting office hard at work to provide me with players for my nightly entertainment?

Strange, complicated dreams. Intrigue, travel, odd situations.

Meanwhile, in the last entry I described the metaphoric nail-biting being done here in advance of the cold wave. Two mornings ago, I woke up to discover snow had fallen during the night. Not enough to linger on the ground, but enough to remain as thick frosting on parked cars, enough to remain on roofs. The roof of the building across this narrow street lay under the most substantial accumulation of snow I’ve ever seen here in the city center, enough that some still lingered as evening came on. When I made the trip to the gym that afternoon, flakes of snow flew, driven by a stiff, cold breeze — the first time I’ve seen anything heavy enough to be called flurries here. And of course in the mountains north and northwest of here, they got pelted in a serious way.

Maybe not much of a display of winter when compared to the Vermont version, but an attention-getter for an area that rarely experiences it this intense, this persistent — three days running at this point. Serious enough to get me thinking about the winter I’ll find myself immersed in when I return to Vermont next week.

Madrid, te quiero.

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