Saturday's non-snowstorm was disappointing in terms of picturesque whiteness. Boston always looks its grungiest at this time of year. Still, I'm happy to pound our brick sidewalks without wiping out on ice, while keeping up my usual "Boston" pace (brisk, with sudden stops for windows displaying cats or antique jewelry).
I suppose it's a decent tradeoff. But I'd still like to see a little snow, just for a change. Just to test my new snow boots, which haven't seen any action yet. Just to go out with my husband, on a lamp-lit, snowy evening, to some romantic little restaurant where we'll eat too much cheese.
This... garden figure stopped me in my tracks on Saturday:
What would you call this? A twigwoman? I have no idea. When I saw it, I was speechless for other reasons, too. It's impressively tall, standing on that garden urn pedestal. It's elaborate. Its torso is stuffed with plastic fruit. Its lips are like cherries. In fact, they are plastic cherries. Somebody spent a long time spraying its gold pinecone base. (I'm envious; I love pinecones and spray paint, especially together.)
While I might not choose this Object for my Back Bay garden, I find it has humor, charm, and audacity. And I can only conclude that there is a frustrated sculptor on Gloucester Street who needs a big snowstorm far more than I do. I can't wait to see what he or she will achieve if/when it finally snows.