Snow has been on the ground for about 3 weeks now. I’m not an admirer. I may have even gone so far as to refuse to take pictures of it. It does feel odd to refuse to photograph something- the gesture itself is much bulkier than the act refused- but I happen to own camera gear and there is a tendency in those who don’t own camera gear to ask people who do if they are going to take photos of the pretty snow.
I do spend a great deal of time in the pursuit of very minor distinctions, so I did take some indirect photos. Pictures that risk all the twee tropes of a snow day with no power outages, the dryer tumbling, some cider potpourri simmering on the stove. Evidence of the day’s futility only in the dripping hats and worsted mittens. Kitchen floor puddles like the remains of those who chose to trade every conceivable comfort for some very limited mobility in deep piles of powdery oblivion. All to experience a pointlessness that’s too saturated to be held in suspension. This was somehow way worse than just shooting some puffy snowscapes. I’ll refuse almost anything as long as it’s within range of the teakettle and tub.