As promised, the snow arrived. Only one week ago we were standing in our garden with the sun beating down and spring promises whispering in our ears. Where has it gone? We escaped a lot of the weather for most of the week, but this weekend brought the inevitable cold and snow. We don't think we've ever seen so much whiteness since we moved to France.
On Saturday evening the snow began to fall.
By Sunday morning we were really covered and basically snowed in. Living on a hill as we do, it's not easy to get around once the snow has covered the streets.
I like the way the yellow stone looks against white.
This morning I took a walk outside, only after dressing up like an Eskimo. The weather didn't stop the baker and it didn't slow down business there either. Here is the boulangerie, in yellow and turquoise, at the top of the road welcoming business on Sunday morning as usual.
I wanted to see the forest in its winter colors. I was the first one to venture down the pathway.
Pity the poor cows who have nowhere to go except under a stand of trees to avoid the falling snow.
At least the farmers made their way to the feeding trough and the cows had breakfast as usual.
You will have to enlarge this photo by clicking on it to see the little furry horses huddling against the fence trying to keep warm.
The valley below in white. This is a somewhat unusual sight for us here. I have no idea how long this condition will last, but for the time being we are living in the frozen tundra.
In Paris, Quinn has built a punk snowman. Tonight he told us about his snow road, where he can drive his cars out-of-doors.
All the ills of mankind, all the tragic misfortunes that fill the history books, all the political blunders, all the failures of the great leaders have arisen merely from a lack of skill at dancing.