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On sunny days the ripples would soften and shine.  At dusk shadows would blue the troughs.  At nightfall with wet would harden to a glassy crust.  The morning’s wee hours would bring fresh snow, to slick across the crust to the sofa, and the bottom shelf of the bookcase where the big books wait.
       The art catalogues, and the atlas, and the plant encyclopedia, and the Victorian picture books.  The snow would climb, day by day, inch by inch, and I would watch it all, relieved.