Black creek

The snow glows as it falls. Today it’s soft and thick but sometimes it’s thin and pointy and dry like a skinny man with wispy hair and a trying argument that swirls in circles, stinging me. My dog twirls in circles just before he poops and he clusters all four paws together as though he’s balancing on a ball. Around and around until it comes out. The snow keeps coming, covering it all.

Back to work tomorrow.

Why does the creek look so dark today when it is surrounded by white? Snow blossoms drench the trees. Snow splatters their trunks. Snow toques cap dead thistle prickles and tall wild oats bow under a load of snow. Exploded milkweed seed pods fill up and serve cold hors d’oeuvres. All is calm. All is white. Except the creek.

Back to work tomorrow. Back to the drone of the white noise-maker. Back to mumbles and clacking keyboards, to hurried words spilling onto the screen. An endless stream.

When snow falls so fast and thick I can’t believe it will get old and crusty, wrecked with salt and sand and magic blue crystals that melt the snow but give my dog cancer of tongue and paw. He wears boots that everyone comments on: “Aww. She’s so cute with her little booties.” Never mind that she’s a he. Because he’s small and white and with me they assume he must be a girl otherwise why would I dress him so foolishly? He licks and he licks and he licks those blue crystals like a crack addict. They might kill him you know, because of the snow.

Low snow clouds puff around my boots with each step. We’re the first to walk here this morning. Snow pills pile on his curly furry legs and soon he looks like he’s wearing snow pants. He shoves his snout into the bank, snorting, and backs out with his black nose freckled with white flakes, his eyebrows caked giving him a low brow look.

Back to work tomorrow. High heels will tap down the hall. Chop chop choppy steps. My skirt will be too tight. My bum will ache from sitting too much. My glasses will reflect too many e-mails to answer.

Swish go my snow pants but my footsteps are silent. I feel airy like I might float away. The snow is loose and soft and my strides are, too. I glide.

Back to work tomorrow.