The NPR announcer says, “Tonight’s forecast is snow and blowing snow.”
We have continuous supplies of electricity, heat, cable, and internet. There’s a supermarket a few blocks from the house. Our employers have urged us to stay home. We are content.
Neighbors now greet with heightened cheer and connection. Although some shops are closed, the Del Ray bars have stayed open to catch all the stir–crazies. People with plastic sleds walk down the middle of the street. This morning we walked to the Metro stop on partially cleared sidewalks, we paused many times to let another person pass on the narrow icy path. Ōyuki smiles. I am aware of walking, taking steps, breathing air, holding cold snow in my bare hand.
Saturday morning the branches of our new Juneberry trees (Amelanchier lamarckii) were bent under the weight of the snow. Carlos trudged around the garden through 18? 24? inches of snow to free the baby trees, shaking them until they sprang back into shape. It was a successful rescue mission and I greeted him like a hero back inside the house.