We caught glimpses of the full moon tonight between gusts of hissing snowfall.  A bit more than a foot had fallen during the day and it seemed to be composed entirely of high-density graupel.  Still, the graupel was loose and flowed like large grain sugar between gloved fingers.   Its higher density bouys skis to the surface and we bobbed down the runs, kicking up rooster tail wakes that sounded like rainsticks.  We finally called it quits around ten then adjourned to Main St to add some GoreTex chic to the Ed Hardy-swaddled crowds.