I’d put off replenishing the necessities for too long, until this evening when snow had been falling since very early morning, blowing in intermittent bursts but collecting without speed.
We’ve had very little snow in Chicago this year. What little we’ve had has melted in unseasonal temperatures soon after coming down, but nature seems to be catching up now. Very steady though not a blizzard, tonight’s continuing snowfall stung when I faced the wind, enough to lift my hands to tuck the sides of my hood tighter into my scarf, not enough to make me curse. I did wonder at times about the clarity of hindsight and the folly of walking with heavy things over new slipperiness when slippery and me are not friends.
My travel was uninterrupted by long expanses of idle time between connections. I murmured thanks into the universe. Without expecting a response, one met me as I turned the last corner from the bus stop to my house. Stopping me in the eerie quiet that can make one forget to fear the man walking across the street or any of the other unknowns that push people faster to their doors in city darkness, my eyes filled with storybook snow, clean sheets of it lying across my path, sprinkled with the diamond dust that falls trite upon the ear when spoken of, but stuns when it’s seen glowing in dimension. Catching streetlight here and there, the dusting glittered, flowing over the untouched sheets as I regained composure and went on toward home.
Inside, after switching on television for the sound of familiar voices to soothe me as I moved about, I left window shades open at the sides of the house, letting the light of falling snow and covered roofs illuminate my rooms as I put away supplies and food. I’m maneuvering well now in the light of two small electric screens and a newly seen gentle glow, holding on to the fantasy that this beauty will last until tomorrow, unscathed.