Just as I decide, two days before the winter solstice, to abandon my unreliable 36 Banksville bus -- which comes in the evening rarely on time, usually 20 minutes late, occasionally early; in sum total, totally unreliable -- and decide to cast my fate to the slightly more reliable light rail line, entailing a 1.3 mile walk home at the end of the ride, but Christ, at least the schedule is somewhat more dependable, because the train is on a track, so things have to keep moving -- it starts to snow.
And that's fine, because this was a snippy snow, wet and sharp, staying around only long enough to make night sidewalks icy. But does it have to pelt my face no matter which direction I turn? Does the wind shift the fricking flakes to torment me as I turn from main road to sidewalk? Well of course it does. It's dark. I'm walking home, into the teeth of the storm.
It's just that I can't remember the last time I stood and looked up into the sky and watched the snowflakes fall from under the constellations. Just quiet and peaceful.
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