Snow Falls in Flurries
I woke up this morning to a drizzly, sleety rain. I was a little disappointed.
I went out clubbing last night and ended up walking home with some other students around 3 a.m. The air had been cold when I had set out on my way to the club earlier, but now, several hours later, the cold had become numbing. The air had become more humid, and we could see our breath clearly, even in the dark. Someone had mentioned that snow was forecast for the morning, and crossing the Löwenbrücke, I could believe it. The air smelled damp and sharp, as if Fall was about to be crystalized.
So the drizzle this morning disappointed me. The cold air outside my window convinced me to linger in bed much longer than I should have, and I had to hurry to bundle up before striking out for class.
Outside, however, the drizzle was coagulating into real snowflakes. As I walked through the Dom quarter, the flakes gathered mass. Over the roar of passing cars, I could hear them pelting my umbrella. The streets were wet, but the cold had not penetrated between the cobbles, and so the obvious danger of icy streets was not yet a problem.
During my class, I mostly ignored the professor droning on about various newspapers. Instead, I watched the sleet gather into a real snow flurry. The flakes grew and grew until they seemed to obliterate everything else in the window. As soon as possible, I re-wrapped and headed out into it.
The flakes were big, lumpy conglomerations -- the product of "warm" freezing. The drifted lazily through the streets, flung this way and that by the airstreams of trucks and pedestrians. The downward motion was gentle, unconcerned, and lugubrious. This was water in no hurry, water that was willing to let itself be pushed about, drift to and fro on somebody else's whim.
My umbrella offered no real challenge to the puffy debris. As I forged through the mess, the flakes curled under my strategically angled shield and lit on my clothing. So much for staying dry!
Bamberg did not seem to be concerned with the weather. Life went on as normal; cars filled the streets, even though they were occasionally covered by small snow drifts (if they had come from the south) or ice (if they had been parked for a while). Several shop owners, including one man who would not be scared away from his open-air vegetable stand, told me that they would stay open through the snow. It was coming down in earnest now, but still not collecting on the streets.
By the time I had finished procuring groceries and had returned to my apartment, the snow had reached a climax. The flakes were still big, but they were descending even faster than before. The wind had died down somewhat, and that left the snow to fall straight down, uninhibited. It was starting to collect on roofs and bridges, coating them with sugary powered. The cathedral looked a little like a gingerbread house from my kitchen window, albeit the most elaborate gingerbread construction in a thousand years.
I went out clubbing last night and ended up walking home with some other students around 3 a.m. The air had been cold when I had set out on my way to the club earlier, but now, several hours later, the cold had become numbing. The air had become more humid, and we could see our breath clearly, even in the dark. Someone had mentioned that snow was forecast for the morning, and crossing the Löwenbrücke, I could believe it. The air smelled damp and sharp, as if Fall was about to be crystalized.
So the drizzle this morning disappointed me. The cold air outside my window convinced me to linger in bed much longer than I should have, and I had to hurry to bundle up before striking out for class.
Outside, however, the drizzle was coagulating into real snowflakes. As I walked through the Dom quarter, the flakes gathered mass. Over the roar of passing cars, I could hear them pelting my umbrella. The streets were wet, but the cold had not penetrated between the cobbles, and so the obvious danger of icy streets was not yet a problem.
During my class, I mostly ignored the professor droning on about various newspapers. Instead, I watched the sleet gather into a real snow flurry. The flakes grew and grew until they seemed to obliterate everything else in the window. As soon as possible, I re-wrapped and headed out into it.
The flakes were big, lumpy conglomerations -- the product of "warm" freezing. The drifted lazily through the streets, flung this way and that by the airstreams of trucks and pedestrians. The downward motion was gentle, unconcerned, and lugubrious. This was water in no hurry, water that was willing to let itself be pushed about, drift to and fro on somebody else's whim.
My umbrella offered no real challenge to the puffy debris. As I forged through the mess, the flakes curled under my strategically angled shield and lit on my clothing. So much for staying dry!
Bamberg did not seem to be concerned with the weather. Life went on as normal; cars filled the streets, even though they were occasionally covered by small snow drifts (if they had come from the south) or ice (if they had been parked for a while). Several shop owners, including one man who would not be scared away from his open-air vegetable stand, told me that they would stay open through the snow. It was coming down in earnest now, but still not collecting on the streets.
By the time I had finished procuring groceries and had returned to my apartment, the snow had reached a climax. The flakes were still big, but they were descending even faster than before. The wind had died down somewhat, and that left the snow to fall straight down, uninhibited. It was starting to collect on roofs and bridges, coating them with sugary powered. The cathedral looked a little like a gingerbread house from my kitchen window, albeit the most elaborate gingerbread construction in a thousand years.
<< Home