Last night I came home late and maybe just a tiny bit warm and fuzzy from a glass or two (or three?) of bubbly at dinner.
As I got out of the cab, there was thunder and lightning. There was at least half a foot of snow on the ground and more coming down in fat, wet, playful flakes.
The dog and I geared up, and made our way to the park. We climbed through the snow, we ran and ran. We had a snowball fight. Well, I threw snow at the dog. But still.
It can only be called a romp. My form of a series of snow salutations.
I took these photos this morning on our a.m. romp. If you want to see them slightly larger, just click on one.