February 2, 2011


The physiology test has been postponed a day.  As early as Sunday evening, there was a buzz in the air about the upcoming storm: "What?  Weather.com is predicting blizzard conditions?"  The snow started yesterday with big, poofy cotton balls drifting determinedly toward the ground.  Last night, it changed and today the same snow continued: small, tiny particulates, thin and brittle ice-crystals that sting the cheek yet melt instantly on contact.  After dinner, I was going to sit inside and curl up on my bed, surrounded by textbooks and papers (but perusing facebook instead) and listen to the wind howl, but I decided to take a walk anyway.

Out into the cold, and I was alone.  I live on a busy street, and it was deserted at 8 p.m.  The whole scene was faintly orange from the streetlights, but the gusting wind turned gravity on its side and it was as if my glasses were made of frosted glass.  I walked and walked and saw only a handful of cars go by, each practically in the middle of the road.

Back inside, I found the crenelations of my scarf crusted with flakes, remnants of the wind tucked away among the threads.

Later, studying physiology with half-hearted attention, a flash of light slid around the edges of the window shade.  A second later, a pane-rattling boom echoed percussively around the air.  The wind was howling around the corner of our building.  It mocked gravity and hurled snow both new and fallen up and around and back again.

All I want to do is sit and listen to the wind and watch the fantastic spirals of snow in the air.  At times I cannot even see the house across the street.  My cat is curled up against my crossed legs (a perfect armrest as I type) and I sit, watching, wishing I did not still have to study for two exams this week.

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