Snowfall

The soothsayers of precipitation foresaw snow, so last night I set the last of the old wood in the fire place. We had a half-cord delivered yesterday, because we were running low, and while it is nicely cured and ready to burn, last year’s wood has gone from good to perfect and seems to take to the flame before I even lay match to the tinder. The remains of last year’s wood had been left until last for a reason; they were oddly sized and oddly shaped, and made an interesting stack on the grate. Once they were under combustion the appearance of the logs hardly mattered. They made a wonderful fire.

A peculiar thing about being out of work: I get to enjoy snow again. I don’t mean to say that I’m into snowmen and snow angels and throwing snowballs while sheltered behind a snow fort. For better or worse, I’ve grown too old and too fond of warmth and sedate comfort for those things. What I enjoy now is the mere fact that snow exists. I get to sit inside by the fireplace with a book and a cup of Morgan blend and bask while the world outside turns clean and bright and alien.

Snow hides the dirt of winter, sweeping the dust under the carpet as it were. Fallen leaves, acorns and twigs all disappear under a Spartan white cover, as do the McDonald’s wrappers, plastic bottles and cigarette butts that gather at the edge of our yard courtesy of thoughtless commuters who would rather see the debris on their daily ride than carry it to a trash can at the end of their day. Perhaps not so much thoughtless as oblivious – the drivers probably don’t even see the detritus that ebbs and flows by the road side, intent as they are on their cell phones and GPS systems and tunes.

But now I digress, and ruin the mood by doing so. I don’t have to commute. I get my revenge by sitting snug and smug by the hearth while the pilots of the trashmobiles gather around their tellies and radios and laptops looking for the latest predictions of total accumulation and calculating how much earlier they will need to set their alarm clocks in order to clean off their garbage scows, shovel their driveways, and creep into whatever cubical city daily makes claim to them.

But I find myself emphasizing the wrong things. Snowfall doesn’t make me feel secure because it avenges me. I felt secure because I had a fire going and cats by the hearth and a cup of tea and the company of a good man. I felt good because, at least for a moment I got to live in the moment.