Scientific? Not quite. Poetic? Definitely.

Little Brother was mourning the lack of wintry whiteness last night as we drove under a cloudy sky to a party. It’s too warm for snow, but the sky did have that look.

He looked out the window and observed the clouds, lit from below by the city lights and a nearby power plant. And he commented, “Clouds are snow! They fall down. Then you play in them.”

He’s not too far off–even Dad The Meteorologist would have to agree with that one.

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