Extended summer stormlover74 future snow hole banter thread 23

[Stormlover74]

3 minutes ago, Volcanic Winter said:

More like warm turkey. 

exactly 

[Volcanic Winter]

Has anyone ever purchased a snow making cannon thingy for at home personal use? Asking for a friend. 

[Stormlover74]

6 minutes ago, Volcanic Winter said:

Has anyone ever purchased a snow making cannon thingy for at home personal use? Asking for a friend. 

I'd go with the Ventus 4.0 Blizzard

https://www.demaclenko.com/snow-guns/fan-guns/ventus-4-0-blizzard/

 

[Volcanic Winter]

16 minutes ago, Stormlover74 said:

I'd go with the Ventus 4.0 Blizzard

https://www.demaclenko.com/snow-guns/fan-guns/ventus-4-0-blizzard/

 

Looks good, I’ll pass it along. To my friend.

Thanks. 

[Stormlover74]

 

 

[forkyfork]

climate change is a perfectly acceptable topic of conversation here. sorry if anyone doesn't like it

[BxEngine]

3 minutes ago, forkyfork said:

climate change is a perfectly acceptable topic of conversation here. sorry if anyone doesn't like it

Climate change yes. Political bullshit because “scientists lie about the climate and vaccines and the earth is flat” isnt

[Will - Rutgers]

wow just checked the 3km Grandma and it’s telling me i’m going to be a very handsome young man all next week

[rclab]

1 hour ago, Will - Rutgers said:

wow just checked the 3km Grandma and it’s telling me i’m going to be a very handsome young man all next week

Someone better warn the southeast ridge. As always ….

[Stormlover74]

Sorry but this does not sound overly enthusiastic until at least mid to late January

Larry Cosgrove:

Merry Christmas. Now if we could just make the weather seem more in season!

Contrary to media opinion, there is cold air out there, plenty of it. Not the harsh sub-zero stuff of legend, mind you. But enough to remind you of the calendar date, that it really is winter. Many in Canada and the USA will feel more chill through the next two weeks as storms break down the existing pattern. Snow will increase over the Intermountain Region, as well as around the Great Lakes and Appalachia. And around New Year's Day, some of the "white gold" may find its way into the northern Interstate 95 corridor. Ridging over western and northern Canada may help with cold air drainage into the lower 48 states.

The 500MB forecasts show an immense disturbance and trough progressing out of the West on January 6. I suspect that this is the "grand finale" for this evolving pattern. If the ECMWF/GGEM scenario holds, many of you in the snowless Great Plains and Midwest, and possibly the Northeast, will get a genuine winter storm. However, as the high-latitude ridge complex collapses as we enter the second week of the new year, a strong warm-up will likely ensue across the nation from west to east.

Keep in mind that with a stratospheric warming episode entering the Arctic Regions, and the breakdown of El Nino revving up, the second half of January and much of February could mean a "winter revival in much of the continent. It's not over 'til it's over...

[Will - Rutgers]

IMO no matter the pattern we’re always a week away from some unexpected evolution and a potential storm.  not that that means there’s some great potential on the horizon but that people who pout about things being snowless forever are annoying dorks

[forkyfork]

getting more than 5 weenies on a post should kill you

[EastonSN+]

19 hours ago, BxEngine said:

Climate change yes. Political bullshit because “scientists lie about the climate and vaccines and the earth is flat” isnt

Although that poses an interesting question, if the world were flat what would the weather patterns be like.....

[rclab]

2 hours ago, Will - Rutgers said:

IMO no matter the pattern we’re always a week away from some unexpected evolution and a potential storm.  not that that means there’s some great potential on the horizon but that people who pout about things being snowless forever are annoying dorks

 

1 hour ago, forkyfork said:

getting more than 5 weenies on a post should kill you

I think just one of these would do the deed. As always ….

 

[donsutherland1]

The Snow Returns

The calendar marched into January. There was no snow in Snowtown.

To the local residents, it seemed that their village had taken its name from a time that was now in danger of being lost forever. In coming years, only the oldest residents would be able to say that they had actually experienced a snowfall. Once they departed, they would take their precious winter memories with them.

Snowtown found itself mired in the grips of a dreadful multi-year snow drought. Even the GFS computer model had abandoned its long-range fantasy snowstorms. Those digital depictions had continually raised hopes. Yet, over and over again, those hopes were dashed on the jagged rocks of reality, as the promised winter storms never materialized. It appeared that the GFS model had finally surrendered to reality.

Everyone in the village had taken notice. At the local college, students taking the Philosophy 101 course used the absence of snow to argue their understanding of eternity. The local shops that still sold a range of winter goods were placed on an “endangered business list” that the local Chamber of Commerce had compiled to bring attention to the village’s plight. Snowtown's winter charm was disappearing just as the snows had vanished into a receding past.

The only places snow could be found were on aging photographs, digital images, and the paintings that hung in the local art gallery. The gap that divided imagery from real experience was an unbridgeable one.

The two century-old Maple Tree that dated to the village’s establishment still stood. One day, its rings would tell amazing stories to any scientist who examined them. It had weathered droughts, violent thunderstorms, pounding hail, torrents of rain, howling blizzards, and two hurricanes. During summers, the shade from its thick leaves provided a measure of refuge from the wrath of an increasingly vengeful sun that ruled summers that now stretched from late May into October.

The night was mild. Large, heavy raindrops began to fall. Within minutes, rivulets ran along the curbsides. Water ponded in opportunistic spots. The wind freshened. It would be another wild, mild, and wet night.

By midnight, most of the village’s residents had fallen asleep as the soaking rain beat against their windows. A few college students labored into the night: writing, cutting, pasting, and re-writing. The tedious sound of the falling rain added to their exhaustion. Caffeinated drinks had lost their power to stave off sleep.

Ella, a tall platinum blond international student from Paris, tried to push on. Although fluent in English, her thoughts increasingly began to flow in French. The paper required English. Fatigue had broken down her fluency. Now, she had to work to translate her French-language thoughts into English-language text.

“I need another cappuccino,” she thought to herself. She walked quickly into the small kitchen in the 19^th century home that had been converted into dorms for the college students. Through muscle memory, she quickly whipped up a giant mug of steaming cappuccino. She placed the ceramic mug, which featured Claude Monet’s “Snow at Argenteuil,” next to her laptop.

She glanced at the screen. She read through the last paragraph she had written. She prepared to write with renewed vigor. And then there was darkness.

Sometime late at night, the unusually intense storm tapped into a distant air mass that was just cold enough to support snow. In almost a flash, the driving rain gave way to wet snow. The swirling snowflakes fell thick and fast, shrouding the quaint village as if it were cloaked in fog. The wet snow plastered everything it encountered. Snowtown’s charming residential streets were quickly covered in a thickening blanket of white.

Ella suddenly awakened. The sound of the furious raindrops that had been lashing her dorm’s windows had fallen silent. Not completely silent. It seemed as if gusts of wind rose time and again to hurl bursts of countless tiny pellets against the glass that separated Ella from the raging elements outside. The wind had taken on a different, less mournful, tone, too.

Ella opened her eyes. The room seemed brighter. Her faithful lamp that illuminated her small desk shone on. Her laptop’s screen saver glowed from the light of the Monet that had supplanted her Word document. But the lighting really was different.

“What time is it…?” she asked herself. Ella realized that despite her frantic last-second effort to arm herself with caffeine to work through the night, she had succumbed to sleep.

The gusts of wind flung the heavily falling snow against the windows. Now awake, Ella sought to resume her writing. She hit “Enter” and the screen saver was gone in an instant. Ella’s document was again on the screen. Twelve-point Times New Roman text had replaced the Impressionist masterpiece. Now she would write.

But she did not start. Her growing curiosity about what was happening outside had become an unstoppable force that drew her away from her laptop to the window. She had to see whatever it was that pulled her away from her assignment.

She opened the Venetian blinds. The old, dreary wet world was gone. A new magical one had come into existence.

Having lived through the brutal heat of Parisian summers marked by intense heatwaves with temperatures of 40°C (104°F or above) and having never seen snow before, she hurriedly put on her overcoat, scarf and boots. Concluding that there would be no class in the coming day, she stepped outside to explore the new world that was before her.

Note: All images were generated using multiple AI platforms. The first image was also processed in Sepia. No text was generated by AI.

 

 

[rclab]

6 minutes ago, donsutherland1 said:

The Snow Returns

The calendar marched into January. There was no snow in Snowtown.

 

To the local residents, it seemed that their village had taken its name from a time that was now lost forever. In coming years, only the oldest residents would be able to say that they had actually experienced a snowfall. Once they departed, they would take their precious winter memories with them.

 

Snowtown found itself mired in the grips of a dreadful multi-year snow drought. Even the GFS computer model had abandoned its long-range fantasy snowstorms. Those digital depictions had continually raised hopes. Yet, over and over again, those hopes were dashed on the jagged rocks of reality, as the promised winter storms never materialized. It appeared that the GFS model had finally surrendered to reality.

 

Everyone in the village had taken notice. At the local college, students taking the Philosophy 101 course used the absence of snow to argue their understanding of eternity. The local shops that still sold a range of winter goods were placed on an “endangered business list” that the local Chamber of Commerce had compiled to bring attention to the village’s plight. Its winter charm was disappearing just as the snows had vanished into a receding past.

 

The only places snow could be found were on aging photographs, digital images, and the paintings that hung in the local art gallery. The gap that divided imagery from real experience was an unbridgeable one.

 

The two century-old Maple Tree that dated to the village’s establishment still stood. One day, its rings would tell amazing stories to any scientist who examined them. It had weathered droughts, violent thunderstorms, pounding hail, torrents of rain, howling blizzards, and two hurricanes. During summers, the shade from its thick leaves provided a measure of refuge from the wrath of an increasingly vengeful sun that ruled summers that now stretched from late May into October.

 

The night was mild. Large, heavy raindrops began to fall. Within minutes, rivulets ran along the curbsides. Water ponded in opportunistic spots. The wind freshened. It would be another wild, mild, and wet night.

 

By midnight, most of the village’s residents had fallen asleep as the soaking rain beat against their windows. A few college students labored on into the night: writing, cutting, pasting, and re-writing. The tedious sound of the falling rain added to their exhaustion. Caffeinated drinks had lost their power to stave off sleep.

 

Ella, a tall platinum blond international student from Paris, tried to push on. Although fluent in English, her thoughts increasingly began to flow in French. The paper required English. Fatigue had broken down her fluency. Now, she had to work to translate her French-language thoughts into English-language text.

 

“I need another cappuccino,” she thought to herself. She walked quickly into the small kitchen in the 19^th century home that had been converted into dorms for the college students. Through muscle memory, she quickly whipped up a giant mug of steaming cappuccino. She placed the ceramic mug, which featured Claude Monet’s “Snow at Argenteuil,” next to her laptop.

 

She glanced at the screen. She read through the last paragraph she had written. She prepared to write with renewed vigor. And then there was darkness.

 

Sometime late at night, the unusually intense storm tapped into a distant air mass that was just cold enough to support snow. In almost a flash, the driving rain gave way to wet snow. The swirling snowflakes fell thick and fast, shrouding the quaint village as if it were cloaked in fog. The wet snow plastered everything it encountered. Snowtown’s charming residential streets were quickly covered in a thickening blanket of white.

 

Ella suddenly awakened. The sound of the furious raindrops that had been lashing her dorm’s windows had fallen silent. Not completely silent. It seemed as if gusts of wind rose time and again to hurl bursts of countless tiny pellets against the glass that separated Ella from the raging elements outside. The wind had taken on a different, less mournful, tone, too.

 

Ella opened her eyes. The room seemed brighter. Her faithful lamp that illuminated her small desk shone on. Her laptop’s screen saver glowed from the light of the Monet that had supplanted her Word document. But the lighting really was different.

 

“What time is it…?” she asked herself. Ella realized that despite her frantic last-second effort to arm herself with caffeine to work through the night, she had succumbed to sleep.

 

The gusts of wind flung the heavily falling snow against the windows. Now awake, Ella sought to resume her writing. She hit “Enter” and the screen saver was gone in an instant. Ella’s document was again on the screen. Twelve-point Times New Roman text had replaced the Impressionist masterpiece. Now she would write.

 

But she did not start. Her growing curiosity  about what was happening outside had become an unstoppable force that drew her away from her laptop to the window. She had to see whatever it was that pulled her away from her assignment.

 

She opened the Venetian blinds. The old, dreary wet world was gone. A new magical one had come into existence.

 

Having lived through the brutal heat of Parisian summers marked by intense heatwaves with temperatures of 40°C (104°F or above) and having never seen snow before, she hurriedly put on her overcoat, scarf and boots. Concluding that there would be no class in the coming day, she stepped outside to explore the new world that was before her.

 

 

Note: All images were generated using multiple AI platforms. The first image was also processed in Sepia. No text was generated by AI.

 

 

 

Magnificent Don. If this is your work and you haven’t published, my question is … Why haven’t you? As always …

[donsutherland1]

Just now, rclab said:

Magnificent Don. If this is your work and you haven’t published, my question is … Why haven’t you? As always …

Thanks for the kind words. I threw it together this morning after reading some of the commentary here.

[rclab]

1 minute ago, donsutherland1 said:

Thanks for the kind words. I threw it together this morning after reading some of the commentary here.

Well done … Get an agent. As always …

[STORMANLI]

1 hour ago, donsutherland1 said:

The Snow Returns

The calendar marched into January. There was no snow in Snowtown.

To the local residents, it seemed that their village had taken its name from a time that was now in danger of being lost forever. In coming years, only the oldest residents would be able to say that they had actually experienced a snowfall. Once they departed, they would take their precious winter memories with them.

Snowtown found itself mired in the grips of a dreadful multi-year snow drought. Even the GFS computer model had abandoned its long-range fantasy snowstorms. Those digital depictions had continually raised hopes. Yet, over and over again, those hopes were dashed on the jagged rocks of reality, as the promised winter storms never materialized. It appeared that the GFS model had finally surrendered to reality.

Everyone in the village had taken notice. At the local college, students taking the Philosophy 101 course used the absence of snow to argue their understanding of eternity. The local shops that still sold a range of winter goods were placed on an “endangered business list” that the local Chamber of Commerce had compiled to bring attention to the village’s plight. Snowtown's winter charm was disappearing just as the snows had vanished into a receding past.

The only places snow could be found were on aging photographs, digital images, and the paintings that hung in the local art gallery. The gap that divided imagery from real experience was an unbridgeable one.

The two century-old Maple Tree that dated to the village’s establishment still stood. One day, its rings would tell amazing stories to any scientist who examined them. It had weathered droughts, violent thunderstorms, pounding hail, torrents of rain, howling blizzards, and two hurricanes. During summers, the shade from its thick leaves provided a measure of refuge from the wrath of an increasingly vengeful sun that ruled summers that now stretched from late May into October.

The night was mild. Large, heavy raindrops began to fall. Within minutes, rivulets ran along the curbsides. Water ponded in opportunistic spots. The wind freshened. It would be another wild, mild, and wet night.

By midnight, most of the village’s residents had fallen asleep as the soaking rain beat against their windows. A few college students labored into the night: writing, cutting, pasting, and re-writing. The tedious sound of the falling rain added to their exhaustion. Caffeinated drinks had lost their power to stave off sleep.

Ella, a tall platinum blond international student from Paris, tried to push on. Although fluent in English, her thoughts increasingly began to flow in French. The paper required English. Fatigue had broken down her fluency. Now, she had to work to translate her French-language thoughts into English-language text.

“I need another cappuccino,” she thought to herself. She walked quickly into the small kitchen in the 19^th century home that had been converted into dorms for the college students. Through muscle memory, she quickly whipped up a giant mug of steaming cappuccino. She placed the ceramic mug, which featured Claude Monet’s “Snow at Argenteuil,” next to her laptop.

She glanced at the screen. She read through the last paragraph she had written. She prepared to write with renewed vigor. And then there was darkness.

Sometime late at night, the unusually intense storm tapped into a distant air mass that was just cold enough to support snow. In almost a flash, the driving rain gave way to wet snow. The swirling snowflakes fell thick and fast, shrouding the quaint village as if it were cloaked in fog. The wet snow plastered everything it encountered. Snowtown’s charming residential streets were quickly covered in a thickening blanket of white.

Ella suddenly awakened. The sound of the furious raindrops that had been lashing her dorm’s windows had fallen silent. Not completely silent. It seemed as if gusts of wind rose time and again to hurl bursts of countless tiny pellets against the glass that separated Ella from the raging elements outside. The wind had taken on a different, less mournful, tone, too.

Ella opened her eyes. The room seemed brighter. Her faithful lamp that illuminated her small desk shone on. Her laptop’s screen saver glowed from the light of the Monet that had supplanted her Word document. But the lighting really was different.

“What time is it…?” she asked herself. Ella realized that despite her frantic last-second effort to arm herself with caffeine to work through the night, she had succumbed to sleep.

The gusts of wind flung the heavily falling snow against the windows. Now awake, Ella sought to resume her writing. She hit “Enter” and the screen saver was gone in an instant. Ella’s document was again on the screen. Twelve-point Times New Roman text had replaced the Impressionist masterpiece. Now she would write.

But she did not start. Her growing curiosity  about what was happening outside had become an unstoppable force that drew her away from her laptop to the window. She had to see whatever it was that pulled her away from her assignment.

She opened the Venetian blinds. The old, dreary wet world was gone. A new magical one had come into existence.

Having lived through the brutal heat of Parisian summers marked by intense heatwaves with temperatures of 40°C (104°F or above) and having never seen snow before, she hurriedly put on her overcoat, scarf and boots. Concluding that there would be no class in the coming day, she stepped outside to explore the new world that was before her.

Note: All images were generated using multiple AI platforms. The first image was also processed in Sepia. No text was generated by AI.

 

 

Very Impressive. 

[LibertyBell]

1 hour ago, EastonSN+ said:

Although that poses an interesting question, if the world were flat what would the weather patterns be like.....

the earth is flat at the poles thats why it's an oblate spheroid

[LibertyBell]

1 hour ago, donsutherland1 said:

The Snow Returns

The calendar marched into January. There was no snow in Snowtown.

To the local residents, it seemed that their village had taken its name from a time that was now in danger of being lost forever. In coming years, only the oldest residents would be able to say that they had actually experienced a snowfall. Once they departed, they would take their precious winter memories with them.

Snowtown found itself mired in the grips of a dreadful multi-year snow drought. Even the GFS computer model had abandoned its long-range fantasy snowstorms. Those digital depictions had continually raised hopes. Yet, over and over again, those hopes were dashed on the jagged rocks of reality, as the promised winter storms never materialized. It appeared that the GFS model had finally surrendered to reality.

Everyone in the village had taken notice. At the local college, students taking the Philosophy 101 course used the absence of snow to argue their understanding of eternity. The local shops that still sold a range of winter goods were placed on an “endangered business list” that the local Chamber of Commerce had compiled to bring attention to the village’s plight. Snowtown's winter charm was disappearing just as the snows had vanished into a receding past.

The only places snow could be found were on aging photographs, digital images, and the paintings that hung in the local art gallery. The gap that divided imagery from real experience was an unbridgeable one.

The two century-old Maple Tree that dated to the village’s establishment still stood. One day, its rings would tell amazing stories to any scientist who examined them. It had weathered droughts, violent thunderstorms, pounding hail, torrents of rain, howling blizzards, and two hurricanes. During summers, the shade from its thick leaves provided a measure of refuge from the wrath of an increasingly vengeful sun that ruled summers that now stretched from late May into October.

The night was mild. Large, heavy raindrops began to fall. Within minutes, rivulets ran along the curbsides. Water ponded in opportunistic spots. The wind freshened. It would be another wild, mild, and wet night.

By midnight, most of the village’s residents had fallen asleep as the soaking rain beat against their windows. A few college students labored into the night: writing, cutting, pasting, and re-writing. The tedious sound of the falling rain added to their exhaustion. Caffeinated drinks had lost their power to stave off sleep.

Ella, a tall platinum blond international student from Paris, tried to push on. Although fluent in English, her thoughts increasingly began to flow in French. The paper required English. Fatigue had broken down her fluency. Now, she had to work to translate her French-language thoughts into English-language text.

“I need another cappuccino,” she thought to herself. She walked quickly into the small kitchen in the 19^th century home that had been converted into dorms for the college students. Through muscle memory, she quickly whipped up a giant mug of steaming cappuccino. She placed the ceramic mug, which featured Claude Monet’s “Snow at Argenteuil,” next to her laptop.

She glanced at the screen. She read through the last paragraph she had written. She prepared to write with renewed vigor. And then there was darkness.

Sometime late at night, the unusually intense storm tapped into a distant air mass that was just cold enough to support snow. In almost a flash, the driving rain gave way to wet snow. The swirling snowflakes fell thick and fast, shrouding the quaint village as if it were cloaked in fog. The wet snow plastered everything it encountered. Snowtown’s charming residential streets were quickly covered in a thickening blanket of white.

Ella suddenly awakened. The sound of the furious raindrops that had been lashing her dorm’s windows had fallen silent. Not completely silent. It seemed as if gusts of wind rose time and again to hurl bursts of countless tiny pellets against the glass that separated Ella from the raging elements outside. The wind had taken on a different, less mournful, tone, too.

Ella opened her eyes. The room seemed brighter. Her faithful lamp that illuminated her small desk shone on. Her laptop’s screen saver glowed from the light of the Monet that had supplanted her Word document. But the lighting really was different.

“What time is it…?” she asked herself. Ella realized that despite her frantic last-second effort to arm herself with caffeine to work through the night, she had succumbed to sleep.

The gusts of wind flung the heavily falling snow against the windows. Now awake, Ella sought to resume her writing. She hit “Enter” and the screen saver was gone in an instant. Ella’s document was again on the screen. Twelve-point Times New Roman text had replaced the Impressionist masterpiece. Now she would write.

But she did not start. Her growing curiosity  about what was happening outside had become an unstoppable force that drew her away from her laptop to the window. She had to see whatever it was that pulled her away from her assignment.

She opened the Venetian blinds. The old, dreary wet world was gone. A new magical one had come into existence.

Having lived through the brutal heat of Parisian summers marked by intense heatwaves with temperatures of 40°C (104°F or above) and having never seen snow before, she hurriedly put on her overcoat, scarf and boots. Concluding that there would be no class in the coming day, she stepped outside to explore the new world that was before her.

Note: All images were generated using multiple AI platforms. The first image was also processed in Sepia. No text was generated by AI.

 

 

wow this should be a Disney movie Don ;-)

[IrishRob17]

1 hour ago, donsutherland1 said:

The Snow Returns

The calendar marched into January. There was no snow in Snowtown.

To the local residents, it seemed that their village had taken its name from a time that was now in danger of being lost forever. In coming years, only the oldest residents would be able to say that they had actually experienced a snowfall. Once they departed, they would take their precious winter memories with them.

Snowtown found itself mired in the grips of a dreadful multi-year snow drought. Even the GFS computer model had abandoned its long-range fantasy snowstorms. Those digital depictions had continually raised hopes. Yet, over and over again, those hopes were dashed on the jagged rocks of reality, as the promised winter storms never materialized. It appeared that the GFS model had finally surrendered to reality.

Everyone in the village had taken notice. At the local college, students taking the Philosophy 101 course used the absence of snow to argue their understanding of eternity. The local shops that still sold a range of winter goods were placed on an “endangered business list” that the local Chamber of Commerce had compiled to bring attention to the village’s plight. Snowtown's winter charm was disappearing just as the snows had vanished into a receding past.

The only places snow could be found were on aging photographs, digital images, and the paintings that hung in the local art gallery. The gap that divided imagery from real experience was an unbridgeable one.

The two century-old Maple Tree that dated to the village’s establishment still stood. One day, its rings would tell amazing stories to any scientist who examined them. It had weathered droughts, violent thunderstorms, pounding hail, torrents of rain, howling blizzards, and two hurricanes. During summers, the shade from its thick leaves provided a measure of refuge from the wrath of an increasingly vengeful sun that ruled summers that now stretched from late May into October.

The night was mild. Large, heavy raindrops began to fall. Within minutes, rivulets ran along the curbsides. Water ponded in opportunistic spots. The wind freshened. It would be another wild, mild, and wet night.

By midnight, most of the village’s residents had fallen asleep as the soaking rain beat against their windows. A few college students labored into the night: writing, cutting, pasting, and re-writing. The tedious sound of the falling rain added to their exhaustion. Caffeinated drinks had lost their power to stave off sleep.

Ella, a tall platinum blond international student from Paris, tried to push on. Although fluent in English, her thoughts increasingly began to flow in French. The paper required English. Fatigue had broken down her fluency. Now, she had to work to translate her French-language thoughts into English-language text.

“I need another cappuccino,” she thought to herself. She walked quickly into the small kitchen in the 19^th century home that had been converted into dorms for the college students. Through muscle memory, she quickly whipped up a giant mug of steaming cappuccino. She placed the ceramic mug, which featured Claude Monet’s “Snow at Argenteuil,” next to her laptop.

She glanced at the screen. She read through the last paragraph she had written. She prepared to write with renewed vigor. And then there was darkness.

Sometime late at night, the unusually intense storm tapped into a distant air mass that was just cold enough to support snow. In almost a flash, the driving rain gave way to wet snow. The swirling snowflakes fell thick and fast, shrouding the quaint village as if it were cloaked in fog. The wet snow plastered everything it encountered. Snowtown’s charming residential streets were quickly covered in a thickening blanket of white.

Ella suddenly awakened. The sound of the furious raindrops that had been lashing her dorm’s windows had fallen silent. Not completely silent. It seemed as if gusts of wind rose time and again to hurl bursts of countless tiny pellets against the glass that separated Ella from the raging elements outside. The wind had taken on a different, less mournful, tone, too.

Ella opened her eyes. The room seemed brighter. Her faithful lamp that illuminated her small desk shone on. Her laptop’s screen saver glowed from the light of the Monet that had supplanted her Word document. But the lighting really was different.

“What time is it…?” she asked herself. Ella realized that despite her frantic last-second effort to arm herself with caffeine to work through the night, she had succumbed to sleep.

The gusts of wind flung the heavily falling snow against the windows. Now awake, Ella sought to resume her writing. She hit “Enter” and the screen saver was gone in an instant. Ella’s document was again on the screen. Twelve-point Times New Roman text had replaced the Impressionist masterpiece. Now she would write.

But she did not start. Her growing curiosity about what was happening outside had become an unstoppable force that drew her away from her laptop to the window. She had to see whatever it was that pulled her away from her assignment.

She opened the Venetian blinds. The old, dreary wet world was gone. A new magical one had come into existence.

Having lived through the brutal heat of Parisian summers marked by intense heatwaves with temperatures of 40°C (104°F or above) and having never seen snow before, she hurriedly put on her overcoat, scarf and boots. Concluding that there would be no class in the coming day, she stepped outside to explore the new world that was before her.

Note: All images were generated using multiple AI platforms. The first image was also processed in Sepia. No text was generated by AI.

 

 

Well done Don

[rclab]

30 minutes ago, LibertyBell said:

the earth is flat at the poles thats why it's an oblate spheroid

With our luck the PV would still be on the other side. Stay well, as always ….

[IrishRob17]

The amount of weenies in this forum that cannot handle the factual truth so far this winter season is somehow shocking to me. 

[the_other_guy]

12 hours ago, IrishRob17 said:

The amount of weenies in this forum that cannot handle the factual truth so far this winter season is somehow shocking to me. 

come on, there’s too many opinions, agendas and narratives floating around in between factual truth. don’t confuse the two or the arguments that are going on because of one not the other.

 

Too many supposed experts, are making this Dec 2015 or 1997 with little factual evidence to back themselves up. that is where the arguments ensue, not over the facts

[MJO812]

Snowman19 weenies everything . What a poor troll.

[Volcanic Winter]

19 hours ago, forkyfork said:

getting more than 5 weenies on a post should kill you

You’re a piece of work, Forky lol. I just gargled my coffee reading that this morning. 

[forkyfork]

1 hour ago, the_other_guy said:

come on, there’s too many opinions, agendas and narratives floating around in between factual truth. don’t confuse the two or the arguments that are going on because of one not the other.

 

Too many supposed experts, are making this Dec 2015 or 1997 with little factual evidence to back themselves up. that is where the arguments ensue, not over the facts

this month is 6 degrees warmer than dec 1997 at the park

[forkyfork]

you've been fact smacked 

[IrishRob17]

2 hours ago, the_other_guy said:

come on, there’s too many opinions, agendas and narratives floating around in between factual truth. don’t confuse the two or the arguments that are going on because of one not the other.

 

Too many supposed experts, are making this Dec 2015 or 1997 with little factual evidence to back themselves up. that is where the arguments ensue, not over the facts

I’m not talking about the future, there have always been people all over the place with future patterns in my 25+ years on these boards. I haven’t seen anyone call this December 2015, although I may have missed it, but it seems like a narrative people create in their own head that others are saying such things. I’m talking about people in denial about the general warmth of the actual daily readings saying “it feels cold” or “it’s still above normal but not that much”.  I’m not saying people should throw hissy fits over that and rage but I also think there are people burying their head in the sand on it.