In Hartford, the few nice, fluffy inches of snow were rapidly reduced to slush. That and this drizzle/rain/snow mixture does not exactly bring to mind images of a gorgeous storm.
Instead, we get puddles and fog.
We get soaked mittens, hats, and coats, without having done more than taken a walk. No making of snowballs. No building of snowfolk. Just drenched to the bone.
But for the first three hours, it was pretty.
Donna Fleischer
Hartford can become quite quieted by snow, becalmed, and for a while returned to its once spaciousness of scale throughout all the seasons — of its broad sidewalks, survivor elms, Sequassen Street cobblestones, grand public parks, and the primordial public memory of Connecticut river seals in winter, quahog shells in summer – for wampum, the hart “fording” the great tidal stream. Thank you for these magnificent photographs.
Not a Snow Storm, Exactly / Real Hartford « word pond
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