Across my country valley road, the ski hill throws its lights across the land, etching shadows in mysterious patterns on the snow and through the trees. It's artificial moonlight, but who would know?
The night is bitter cold and windy; the snow is falling heavy... It doesn't seem to phase the youngsters on their snowboards. I can hear their laughter; I can see their breathing turning into frost...
From my wingchair at the windows of my library, I watch their boundless energy propelling them atop three feet or more of cold, white global warming.
The kids are loving it, and so am I.
R.A. T. (Rose About Town)... observing worldwide global warming from her perch... firstname.lastname@example.org