February 1st

February 1st.  I have endured January.  Snow begins to fall earlier than forecasted, yet a big storm or a little storm is expected.   Run to the supermarket.



A black cat walks along plowed streets next to white canyon drifts.  Neighbors park cars at the end of driveways.  A small line of white  accumulation on black power lines.  

A gossamer triangle of white ramparts the deck railing. 

The snow is starting at 6pm, the Super Bowl at 6:30pm.  I expect to be awoken by the grind of metal plows against asphalt in the wee hours.  I relish the sound of humanity in the darkness.

Tomorrow is Groundhog Day and if all goes according to plan the storm will osbsure shadows.  In winter, I cling to folklore.