I Felt Trumped

There was a possibility of snow. I looked out on a chilly white scene, reflecting that extremes of weather are matched by extremes of political fronts. The season hangs its head under a burden. Out for a walk with 'Duke', I ducked under snow-laden branches, but it was the beast of a snowplough that threw it at me – down my neck. Is other traffic struggling to get to where? This morning the world feels very different. We are searching to find where we are as a big Trump of the white stuff is flung at us. On the way to the White House an occluded front is forecast. So what to put on?