How odd, I thought. If it weren't completely improbable for such a thing to be happening in Las Vegas, I should almost think that rain were on the verge of freezing.
Five minutes later, my wipers were slapping ice off my windshield, and I realized that I'd never driven the Saturn in snow before, so I did a little casual brake and steering testing on a nice broad straight stretch of Lake Mead Boulevard, and decided all was well.
By the time I got to work, the ground was white.
It's stopped now, but there's about an inch of snow on the ground, and nothing looks more charming than Mexican fan palms and Saguaro under a layer of holiday white.
I am amused to note, however, that the pineapple I was growing in the front flowerbed is probably dead, and all the bougainvillea that the immigrants from SoCal have been planting all over the place.
More's the pity. I like bougainvillea.
And all will be well. And all will be well. And all manner of things shall be well.
Except the bougainvillea.