Broom in hand, my neighbor stands looking mournfully at his snow-mounded car.
"Another lovely day in sunny Minneapolis," I deadpan.
(This is irony: we haven't seen the Sun for days.)
Steve shakes his head. "I just got home from ten days in Jamaica, and this is what I come back to."
"Welcome home," I say, wryly, then add: "More coming, I hear."
He begins to sweep the snow off of the car.
"Spring's just around the corner," he says.
"So mote it be," I say.