My relationship with snow is like anyone's relationship with a miracle: startled awe and not a little fear cut with a general sense of unreality. Who expects ice falling from the sky? People not born and raised in the south, that's who. I got up this morning finally before eight feeling too awake and bothered svmadelyn for keys to go to the 7 Eleven for coffee and trip over piles of white fluff like marshmallow cream piled messy around the doors and by unexpected corners. It was still perfect and still falling, and I slid through pristine white bewildered by the flakes melting into the sleeves of my coat.
It's taking my breath away.
We're going to get cupcakes and then to the museum to look at--something, I have n idea why, I don't have a relationship with art more complex than pretty and what is that? Really?
I, for one, imagine the cupcakes will be very, very good. And the person looking blankly at anything abstract and saying blankly "Very interesting," while covered in snow, well, that will be me and you know, that will be good, too.
(svmadelyn and V are getting along a little too well. I cannot prove they are going to leave me friendless and alone in the snow, but it could happen. Also, I left my phone on the plane (yes, go ahead, laugh), so I could be abandoned to die very easily. At least I have snow, which I understand standing under could be dangerous? I am pondering this eventuality.)