Three Degrees Fondly Fahrenheit

It was cold out there, but the inch of fresh fluffy powder that dusted the walks last night was still untrodden. I decided to get at it before any masochists out jogging or dog-walking put footprints on it*, and so I wrapped my head in the soft, warm pashmina from friend-of-the-blog MK to ward off frostbitten ears & nose and headed out.

With only an inch of dry powder on the walks, the sheet metal edge on the shovel blade was ungodly loud on the concrete at this hour, so I tried to get it over with as quickly as possible. I keep a pair of Mechanix or PIG gloves or similar in the left hand pocket of every jacket I have, but there's nothing like holding a metal shovel handle in three degree (that's -16.1 degrees for blogfriend MK) weather to remind one that not all gloves are actually winter gloves. Still, I managed to finish up before I actually got past the level of minor discomfort.

*For those who don't live in snow-shoveling regions, footprints in snow on concrete compress the snow into ice where people have walked.