A glance out the window revealed snow flakes big as clover blossoms skittering through the air, landing to become one with the windsculpted snow dunes. A white-out momentarily obscures the houses across the street. In unison every kid in Franklin and Delaware County hoped to God for another snow day. Maybe it was the wind, but I thought I heard a collective “Oh No…” of their parents, I among them..
On snow days, I end up cooking far more, washing more dishes and enduring constant surge of interruptions from the family I adore. I sit in the wine colored recliner, hypnotized by the motion, while chicken soup burbles on the stove.
I should be editing one of 261 essays that make up my list of default work.
But I stare out the window and see the layer of pristine snow that separates me from my neighboors cut only by the blade of a snow plow.
I wrap my cable knit sweater around me and sip coffee and think. If I push back and hold my head south, I can watch the snow and drift off to sleep.
It's Saturday. I'm sleeping in.
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