There is the finest layer of snow on the ground - more confectionery than weather, in appearance. Not enough snow to have any significance, really.
These days, I am less enamoured of snow than I used to be. I think it's a natural process, that we stop being amazed by the things around us, as we get older. Things which used to be wondrous and exciting now seem mundane, or even irksome.
Snow seems to underline this, in a particular way, though.
I am comfortable with the idea that snow doesn't seem as exciting a prospect for me now as it did, say, six years ago. What worries me is the idea that I might have reached that stage prematurely.
To think that I wake up to snowfall in the morning, and all I feel is worried - about traffic disruption, or about losing work opportunities as a result of the weather - is not, in itself, an alarming thing. But when I realise that there are people five or six years older than I am who wake up to snow still feeling the excitement I remember from childhood I fear that I have aged too quickly.