A glaze of ice over everything, then a layer of tiny ice balls atop that. A sparrow attempting to land on the feeder wipes out. Even the grass is too slick to dare a crossing. The ice pellets hiss down, literal white noise.
My wool-covered lap is a mountain the cat is determined to climb. She makes repeated attempts to nest, despite it being occupied by book, laptop, and notebook. Eventually she settles next to me, a round black loaf of resigned feline disappointment.