Snowflake, home

Almost all scientific evidence to the contrary, I am a great and long-time believer in my uncanny ability to jinx the universe. So, it is not without extreme trepidation that I photographed the most modest of snow showers this morning, not long after a serious cold front had plunged us back into February—that would be typical February, not the 80 degree weather we experienced this year—with the idea that I might proclaim, to any and all listeners, that this single flake of snow represented the end, the genuine end, of winter weather. My fear, of course, was that in so doing I would ensure that, just out of natural spite for my bold prognostication, Mama Nature would bring humility to my doorstep in the form of an early spring blizzard.  So, to avoid any need to be chastened for hubris, I'm putting a question mark on the forecast. Maybe this is the last snowflake we'll see until next November or so; maybe not. You never know around here. All I can say for certain is that there was a tiny amount of the white stuff falling out of the grim grayness of early morning. My hands were shivering enough so that, even with the new micro lens's anti-vibration controls, it was hard to hold the camera rock-steady.