The first road-sticking snow fell last night. Every year this happens, I wake up, lumber about my morning, and inevitably open a window-blind to dazzlingly offensive light. I rub my eyes and marvel at its softness. I mourn fall, an always too short season. I think about Dubliners, a book that ends in snow falling general all over the living and the dead.
It’s one of those days where everybody posts the same things on social media. If you commute, you’ll complain that people can’t drive. If you stayed in, you’ll post a photo of the snow through the same window that dazzled you. If you don’t do either, you’ll check social media and notice how everyone posts the same thing. You might feel pride or superiority for not posting anything about snow, and you might try to exercise your wit with a post about how everyone is posting about snow. You’ll be driven to remark, even if you don’t care to.
When I go out today, which I am blessed to only have to sparingly, I know I will have a conversation about not being ready for snow. Talking about the weather is as natural as dogs barking at strangers; no season announces itself harder for conversation fodder than winter on arrival.
I just paid ten bucks for a state park pass on my license plate. My cat still begs for me to open the window for him to enjoy fresh air. Are my tires even winter ready? You can call the snow pretty as long as you add ‘but not for long.’
For my part, I uploaded a video to the Stories feature on Instagram of my cat Kyle looking outside. I believe Instagram added a comedic brass stab denoting surprise, which Kyle only mildly expressed in truth. Then I thought about taking some online classes this winter, drinking warm beverages. Then I wrote this.
