Monday, February 2, 2015

arctic

It's arctic out there. Zero F (minus 17 C) and windy. It's snowing and blowing. A world of swirling snow, pelting ice particles.

I've scooped my driveway, deck, steps, and path to heating oil pipe three times. I put on snow pants, big snow boots (no socks, they bunch up), fleece vest, wool scarf, winter jacket, wool hat, and thick ski gloves. I push the door open and step into winter. I shovel the snow that was in front of the door. I shovel the steps.

Then I get my scoop, It works great, I fill it up with the light fluffy snow and push it off the edge of the deck. Actually, it's an uphill job at this point, since the snow pile is so big. So I push it up and over the snow hill.

Then the driveway. I start at the deck and scoop the snow towards the street. I scoop in front of the garage door and clear out a path to the heating oil pipe. I push the snow to the end of the driveway. There's a wall of snow there now. What I dumped plus the snow from the street, shoved there by the town plow. My plow guy will come by and clear out that wall of snow, pushing it onto my lawn and my neighbor's lawn. Slight problem, our lawns are now loaded with snow, like 10 feet of snow. We're running out of places to put the snow.

It's supposed to snow all week.

No cars go by. No people. It's white everywhere, and quiet except for the howling wind. I'm being pelted with ice particles. The snow whirls around me. Little snow tornadoes. I come inside. My face is red and burning from the wind, wet with melting snow. My ears hurt.

I take off my layers. The hat is coated with snow. I hang up my wet clothes and put on dry ones. Inside it's tropical warm. I'm roasting tofu and vegetables. I admire my 24 birthday roses: layers of soft petals: yellow, white, pink, and red. Flowers, warmth, color. 

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