This morning, after a breakfast of mushroom and tomato omelets at the Edward Harris Inn, we left Rochester, New York in blowing snow and ten degrees F. When we arrived there yesterday,plenty of snow lay on the ground, and the night was cold and windy. First, dinner at a British style pub – fish and chips and shepherd’s pie, two ales – then a cozy evening reading the Sunday paper. It’s been many years since I drove on snow-packed city streets or down a highway with cars in ditches, trucks with huge plows, the sun fighting through the cloud cover. Many years since I lived in Buffalo. Tonight, it’s good to be home. The wind is blowing hard over the brown field across the road. No more snow. For now.