Still snowing, and yet the sun shines through the clouds, a watery yellow and just bright enough to be too much to look at at. The clouds thicken, the sun turns an apricot shade, and then vanishes again.
How delicate and fragile the tiny scrap of the first crescent moon looks, against the deep peacock green of sunset, with scraps of cobalt blue clouds all about.
The grass is the palest and finest of greens, from the thin layer of ice encasing it.
The new risen moon, snowy white on the black sky, behind the tangled branches, which seem, somehow, to blot out all the marks on the moon, so it gleams like a perfect pearl. Only when I drive off do I see the old moon, marked. (The next day, it seems the same time, but the sky is still blue, however deep, and the moon is golden.)
How the supermoon glows! First pale gold against dark blue, then pearly against black.
The moon looks flattened. It just peeks above the cloud, but for some reason, supermoon perhaps, it looks broader than it should be.
Cloud encroaching. Hard to tell what is the moon's marred face and what the cloud before it.
Wind blows, and blows. The snow is not much, but the sides of cars are covered where the wind abruptly slows for more area. After inches and inches of snow, there are large stretches where the grass peeks through, where other places are all but impossible to traverse.
The clouded evening sky is all deep blue, like a gem, with the faintest of variegation, and the leafless branches are stark and black in lacework against it.