Sprinkle

– The first snow of winter. A white carpet, carpeting the landscape as far as the eye can see. In whiteness.
– It's a bit disappointing, really. Hardly a carpet. More of a sprinkling. Sort of melted as soon as it landed.
– But you can use your imagination. Or if you put your mind to it, you could even gather all the snow from the garden together in one spot. So if not quite a carpet, at least a rug.
– But do we want everywhere covered in snow? It may look pretty, and Christmassy, but I've rather moved on: I'm already looking forward to spring, and the arrival of daffodils, and daylight stretching into a decent hour of the evening, rather than wanting to be reminded of Yule logs and brandy butter and that sort of thing.
– It's nice to have a little bit of snow once a year. Helps to bring to mind the gentle passing of the seasons: how Nature is slumbering peacefully, awaiting the rebirth of the warming spring sun.
– Not to mention the difficulty of travelling anywhere. Roads never get gritted, the drive to work is twice as slow, impossible to walk along the pavement without serious risk of injury.
– You're not really into winter, I can tell.
– I just think it hasn't really been thought through properly. It's all very well to have things looking pretty, but there are practical aspects that have been left out of the equation. Take Cat for an example: Cat understands what I mean. She is motivated by a blunt pragmatism, such as the need to pay a visit to the garden once a day. Which becomes difficult when it's covered in several inches of snow. I think she still holds bitter memories of last winter.
– True. It's not her favourite season. She's barely gone out this winter even before the snow came.
– We could suggest hibernation to her. Leave a box filled with straw next to the radiator and see if she takes the hint.