INDIANAPOLIS "SNOWPOCALYPSE" (FEAT. THE "BIKE-CICLE")
I'm cross-legged in my computer chair, clad with black leggings and a flannel shirt that's not mine. I've been outside once already today, layered with a coat and a hat and scarf, all of which were soaked and dripping after my hour-long walk in the snow. There's several inches out there now, with more to come. The trees are heavy, bending, yielding. Power lines, too, are weighted, and there are many thousands of people in the city who are currently without electricity. But all is well where I am ... at least for the moment. Thankfully, I did not have to venture to the office today. No, I slept in. I slept in and awoke to a sparkling, quiet, white wonderland.
On my walk, I encountered a few individuals, some of whom were taking their dogs for a leisurely stroll before the temperature plummets below zero. Traffic was almost nonexistent; sounds were blanketed by snow, muffled and soft. I could hear only the crunch beneath my shoes. I wasn't cold, though I did manage a snowflake directly to the eye. And, while momentarily removing my hat to shake off what had collected there, I learned the pain of having yet another snowflake fly directly into my ear canal.
Soon, I will go outside once more, to attack my steps and walkway. Shovel. Shovel. Shovel. Wet shoes, damp hands, cold toes, a runny nose. The snow will stick to my wool coat. It will collect on my scarf and threaten to tumble down, to my bare skin. I'll shiver, grumble, curse the weather and the winter. But, back inside, there's a cozy blanket, and a thick, white comforter. There are marshmallows and an evergreen-scented candle, and that flannel shirt that somehow, who knows how, smells of Calvin Klein and cigarettes.