The storm calms; little flurries drift slowly towards the ground and land in soft piles. The news are frothing at the mouth trying to cover the disaster in its entirety before it passes. While I pretend to sleep, the streets get cleaned up, the city prepares to start anew. I do not pull the blinds. The world outside has that odd light color where ground and sky are indistinguishable, it is soothing.
The snow surprises us every time it comes, as though we'd never known it would hit us again. The questions on our lips are the same, year after year. We are always overwhelmed by their existence. It is life.
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