Flurry Scale

Let it be reported that the twisting tongue of asphalt, which is what counts as a sidewalk on the east side of Ithaca, was peppered with dense, recalcitrant snowflakes this morning, as the buzzing, steam-coughing Burger King prepared its oilcakes for the shivering drivers. The tumbling meadows between East Hill Plaza and the start of the cinder block student housing looked as tempting as ever for an arms-in-the-air glide and fall, a leap into the bugs and long green grass, but today was flurried. And you had to notice the cemetery on the left side, behind the two convenience parking spots where a pair of lucky cars can stay for free, one hour at a time (?). Inside of the enclosed city street that began ten minutes later (where Dryden becomes inhabitable and overpriced) I turned right and found a long line inside Stella's cafe, with a barista wearing a 'People's Republic of Portland' t-shirt, and apologizing that I could not take the miniature Buddha statue, or the rubber triceratops or the Star Wars toy (and none of these three things was bigger than a thumb) they'd put on display on the countertop near the tip jar. And so I came here with a cup of doubled-over coffee with everything in it, and find distracting the Starlings freezing in the grass just outside the library window.