Hours of snowfall blanket Stamford, Connecticut. Inches accumulate, from dusting to knee-deep, enveloping sidewalks and streets everywhere in sight. Partway through the barrage, snow plows attempt to mitigate the encroachment.
I scarcely notice. We awoke to a frozen cold-water pipe underneath my kitchen. Hours of heating the pipe with both a hair dryer and a borrowed heating fan finally result in running water—after 14 hours!
Forgive me, then, if I wax cynical about Punxsutawney Phil. Especially after he scampers back to his burrow at the first sign of his shadow.
I don’t need him to tell me this winter won’t open its icy jaws anytime soon!
warm spell
the glacial snow
stays hard
I’m hosting Haibun Monday over at dVerse, where we write about Groundhog Day.
The pub is open! Come join us!
Frank J. Tassone 
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