A parting glimpse of the boathouse blurred beyond veil of soggy snowflakes. Southwestern sirens are calling me away — by ferry, airplane and rental jalopy — so I leave the homestead in the able care of my bride and my dog for a few days. I’m willing deep drifts of powdery snow upon my return!
By the way, if “snow falling on cedar…” rings a bell, there’s a reason why: an amazing novel, Snow Falling on Cedars, by David Guterson. Read it. You won’t regret it. But don’t waste too much time trying to decipher the similarity between the title I used for this snapshot and Guterson’s. No hidden meaning. Just a descriptive reference to Rosslyn’s boathouse roof which received a new shingle roof a couple of summers ago.