Decorative fastner

we come from a place with snow. the men are used it. or at least, they act like it. you've seen them before. these are men who brush off offers of hat and glove and scarf as they saunter outside, but when they come back, they come back in a hurry, hands whipping repeatedly downward to dislodge the snow as if it was water, stomping their boots so loose snow lands on the small island of carpet, the melting snow forming a branching collection of rivers running slowly off its coast. there is always heavy breathing mixed in with exclamations about how unexpected this temperature was, how the weatherperson got it wrong--again--and how next time he'd wear more layers, maybe a hat and glove and scarf, or stay inside for another cup of tea and let the snow remain outside, unbroken, without the weight of his feet trudging through it, for the rest of the morning, and maybe, even, into the following night.