Where I grew up, it snowed about once every two years. My parents were super into skiing but it meant a two hour drive on a road that we travelled so often that I had practically memorised all the turns by the age of ten. Apparently, my new town receives a similar amount of snow and I was not expecting to spend my first winter here wading through waist-deep powder. Then snowpocalypse happened with well over a metre of snow falling in less than two days. D’mitry was thrilled, after all it meant fine photography, and I was too because snow is the best thing ever. I love watching snow falling from my window almost as much as I love skiing, both of which I have been doing a lot of over the past few months. I never thought I would ever reach a point where I said “there is too much snow”. It seemed like a preposterous statement that people with no joy in their heart would say while frowning bitterly at snowmen and snowball fights. As it turns out, there is such thing as too much snow and those people probably aren’t quite as sinister as I imagined. In a town that is simply not equipped to deal with this much snowfall, it really has been apocalyptic. And I would love a single day where I don’t have to leave for work twenty minutes early just to make sure there is enough times to scrape the most stubborn ice ever from my windshield. The worst part is that I’ve neglected to take photos of D’mitry making the most of snowpocalypse because I’ve been an irresponsible dinosaur owner. I’m sorry.