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For anyone who's lived in a place where snow is a regular occurrence, it probably seems silly the way Portlanders fall over themselves -- sometimes literally -- whenever it happens here.
I guess it happens seldom enough that it's still kind of magical. You can almost sense the whole city stopping what it's doing to look up and see these delicate flakes floating down from the heavens, somehow piling up in such quantity that they leave beauty wherever you look.
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Lights gleam brighter. Silence envelops whole neighborhoods. Ice clings to tree branches in the hills and on the flats. Ain't no difference anywhere.
Photos: Above, looking north on N.E. 13th Avenue; at left, our condo, with holiday lights.
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