This past weekend, I spent a period of about 24 hours intermittently watching snow plaster itself against the homes and roads of the neighborhood I grew up in. The sky was a constant, distant grey that seemed to feed off of the continuous snowfall instead of starving from it. Standing outside, leaning against a shovel with drenched gloves and hearing the crackle of ice shifting in my hair as I lifted my gaze, I stared straight into the sky and could find no single trace of sunlight. We don’t get snowfall like this too often in South-Central Pennsylvania; by the time you clear to the end of your driveway, the other end is drowning under inches of snow again. Crossing the street becomes an all-day affair.