I'm not sure what discrete snow would look like, but this morning's offering was definitely not it. This morning's snow was big, fat flakes of mushy whiteness, soaking cold as it landed on my head and coat. Nasty stuff.

Discretion has to do with holding back, not doing, showing or saying everything one possibly could just because one could. It has to do with making prudent choices about what we do and say. This morning's snow said, "I can chill you to the bone, therefore I will." Discretion might be more like the cold, dry snow that sparkles in the sunlight as I brush it off my coat, all warm and toasty inside my down and woolies.

One the flip side of discretion is magnanimity. If discretion is about trying not to cause offence, magnanimity is about not taking it; it's about brushing off the minor slights and omissions and discomforts that I might otherwise take umbrage at.

Perhaps it wasn't that the snow was indiscreet. I could, after all, have worn a coat more suited to the wetness. Had I exercised more discretion in my choice of covering I could have been more magnanimous about the snow. It really was pretty, after all, against the solemn gray of the November morning.