Can I use the blizzard as an
excuse for not having written as much as I wanted to this past week?
Yes.
I’m
mesmerized by snow. I love the dizzying concept of how all those unique little
flakes add up to one big pristine blanket. I love the quiet as nearly all outdoor
activity stops. And I can join my cats at the window and watch the birds at my
feeders for hours on end. I always make sure they have extra seed during storms.
I don’t even mind shoveling the
snow. Sure, I gripe and complain about it sometimes, and I suffer the stiff back
the next day, but there’s little I find more invigorating than plowing through a foot-deep snow one shovelful at a time. I play little geometry games with myself, plotting and planning the most efficient
way to clear the stuff away. I take frequent breaks to marvel at the frosted trees.
It used to even be more fun before
every single one of my neighbors purchased a snow blower. Now when I go outside
to drink in nature’s finest spectacle, I’m assaulted with the incessant buzz I thought I had left behind with autumn’s leaf
blowers. My nose crinkles at the acrid engine exhaust. Gone are the good-natured neighbor-to-neighbor greetings that carry across the blanket of snow like a whisper
across a calm lake.
Happy to have finished the job
of shoveling, but sad at the loss of yet another pure snow, I come inside, exchange my layers of wet clothes for some fresh,
dry fleece, mix a cup of hot chocolate and sit down at the computer to write.
But wait, aren’t the Olympics
on?
Till next time,
Jill.
