The Indecisiveness of Snow

Ratatat – El Pico

Last night the sky surprised me with fat white flakes that clung together and packed themselves around  bootprints on the ground. It waylaid travellers and snuck through the laces on my trainers wetting the tops of my feet. I didn’t care. Everywhere I looked and everything I touched was covered in inches of snow. The litter on the ground and the confused flowers that had bloomed last week were weighed down and erased. Everything glowed through the falling snow and Ratatat bounced my steps homeward.

A girl on the bus drew a heart to her boyfriend in the condensation on the window, waved, and as the bus started up wiped it away with her sleeve. I watched the buildings pass through the hole where her heart  used to be and tried not to catch eyes with the guy sitting just right to it. His fingers drumming out the beat in my ears, an instrument case taking up an extra seat. He got off a stop before mine and my feet stood up quickly and followed him through the snow and down the street. We exchanged windburned smiles at the corner where we separated, our heads bopping in time to different beats. I imagined our gloved fingers intertwined and wondered idly if his lanky legs would slow down for mine or make me hop skip jump to keep up.

I shovelled the snow in front of our house and the two houses next door because I didn’t want to turn off the music. I was shovelling toward  the house three houses up when a group of loud laughing people drove me to retreat indoors. Then it was my dogs’ wet noses in the palms of my hands and warm fleece on all my exposed skin. I fell asleep to the aching howl of the wind.

When I woke up this morning it was gone. I walked outside in pajamas and bedheaded pigtails and I wasn’t cold. I looked around stunned. My blank slate dissolved. The dead plants in ugly brown tangles at my feet. Frustrated and unsatisfied. Blue-balled by winter, again.

[edit] the fact that this entry from last year is linked by the wordpress gods at the bottom of this post hurts my soul a little.


3 thoughts on “The Indecisiveness of Snow”

  1. Blue-balled by water. There’s no better way to express it.

    In New York, the snow is chaos and romance at its peak. Everyone falls in love for about an hour. It’s fleeting. The slush becomes brown, then gray, then black.

    I want to meet you on a bus. We’d be bobbing to the same beat, though that’s only just a gues..

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