I knew it would snow today because the forecast said it would, though I can’t say I would have been surprised if it didn’t. But I was surprised all the same. There’s something marked about waking up in the first place you’ve ever lived on your own and going to the window, as you always do, to raise the blinds and greet the morning and find, outside, a trillion frosty white particles waving at you. God’s confetti (I’m sure this simile has been used to exhaustion, but I could not help it).
|Get used to seeing this view. It’s my best window.|
“There’s nothing great about snowy season in New York,” a friend said grimly, his face twisted from the thought of having to walk through snow, “You’ll see soon enough.”
And of course he’s partly right. I’m sure there are plenty of seasoned East Coasters grumbling as they’re tightening ties and double wrapping scarves, but I’m not yet (will I ever be?) a seasoned East Coaster and am still sitting in my pajamas, before me a bowl of apple, blueberry and cinnamon steel cut oatmeal. I am not grumbling at all, though am fully aware there’s a strong chance I’ll be writing a different line after walking through the snow day after day, my face, fingers and toes frozen stiff and my overall countenance looking quite corpselike but inside feeling quite uneasy, anxious to get somewhere warm. But at present I’m inside looking out which, when it snows, is a wonderful place to be.
Though, I suppose I should take a moment to say goodbye to what was a gorgeous New York Fall, as seen on various walks through Central Park: