Sometimes I feel like Lawrence of Arabia here in western Maine.
"What is it, exactly, Major Lawrence, that attracts you, personally, to the desert?"
"Now, that's a very illuminating answer."
And so it is with me. There was four or five inches of fresh snow overnight -- frosting for the first day of spring cake --which at least covered all the grime that accumulates in the snowbanks as they decay. We are cold a lot. We get dirty sometimes. My little son can make handprints in the rime on the inside of the windows in the morning. There is a belching, hulking industrial building the size of Oz squatting over the river a mile or two from here.
But it's clean.