walking on ice

Time away, time off, a break, the changeup comes as relief for the brain. Sleeping in, no concern for rush hours, 8 AM meetings, or pressing emails. She always gets up before me; maybe it’s just a childhood habit. It takes longer for her to get ready for bed, longer to get ready for the day. She squeals like a little girl when something tickles her mental palette. It’s delightful. I am always amazed at what the trigger might be.

Usually, I feel her leave. The bed doesn’t move; no noise is made. Maybe it’s the loss of warmth. I laid there in her absence, in my sleep induced mental blurriness.

“Oh my!” she sounds like her grandmother.

Her voice sparkled, “Oh my! It really snowed last night.”
From my horizontal position, the sparkle was enough, I could imagine the snow, I’ve seen it before… Ugh, I need to p.

Whoa! It really did snow, a foot for sure. That’s a lot for Burque. My eye’s twitched in the brightness… It’s beautiful, soft, un-traveled, absent of contrast, perfect, and wet and really heavy to lift. I shoveled all 5” of that snow myself. Somehow, I am more of a man for it. Honey, you should feel my bicep. And check my LL Bean snow boots from 15 years ago. Yup, somehow I am really wise for owning them. How cool am I? I can still fit in my snow boots from high school. I guess my feet are the only things that haven’t swelled.