Snow

[Judy Thompson]

It's been snowing here for upwards of  15 days;  not a lot at a time,  and now and then a sun the color of pale egg yolks makes enough shadows to let us think it's over;  but the snow keeps falling.  Not much wind yet, which is a blessing; this is a village of one story bungalows and one story storage sheds, some so low you have to duck to walk inside;  in some places the snow has risen to just under the window sills, which from the inside make it look as if the houses were sinking rather than the snow rising. 

We have managed to lay planks on the snow, making it possible to visit each other,  and as the snow rises we raise the planks another foot or so, at least giving us a semblance of normality;  by now, after 15 days,  the entire village is covered with plank roads, leading everywhere, even to the grocer's and the doctor's office.

Tonight, before the power finally went out with a determined sigh,  the radio announced that there was a major storm headed in our direction, and since the weathermen on the radio seemed to have no comprehension of this much snow already on the ground, they were all but exulting over the 'first heavy storm of the season"  and giving wind and snow estimates.   Enough to cover our windows, enough to make this small village a place of roofs and chimneys.

And the wind is rising, and the snow is falling harder.

[Geni Stratton]

Sun the color of pale egg yolks makes enough shadows to let us think it's over..... great imagery. Places the reader dead smack in the bare bones of winter. Lived up north for awhile know all about plank sidewalks.

[Judy Thompson]

Oh, I know just what that is, Gita.  Nothing like it.   I can understand that heat is supposedly just warmed air, but there is something about a woodstove that's a bit like hot oatmeal.  It stays with you.  You simply cannot snuggle up to a space heater, or baseboard heating.  And add that to watching the snow drifting itself into a new landscape,  ominous seems a long ways away. 

[Gita]

I had to come back to add something. There's a delicious cozy feeling that comes with being snug in bed with snow falling outside and the faint scent  of woodsmoke around. I remember that from my Canadian childhood.

[Judy Thompson]

thanks paul, and yeah it does get a bit ominous at times.  The only thing that keeps us truly centered is that from mid december onward the days keep. getting. longer.  

 

[Paul de Denus]

I loved this too- an ominous sense to it- growing up in the northern climate, I could feel the cold and coming isolation here- great story Judy

[Angela]

This was creepy in the best way.  I felt the narrator was in awe, in disbelief, in fear or anxiety, and in frustration, simultaneously.

[Judy Thompson]

I hadn't thought of that aspect, Simon,  but you're absolutely right.   It may also be why some people (myself included)  find sleeping bags so much more appealing  than flat old sheets and blankets.   Thank you for pointing that out.

Robert, glad I could help.

[Simon Halliday]

I like this. It's very evocative of feelings about enclosed worlds and their inhabitants, which occur only once in our lives and become very private to us. 

The last lines are very good  '... small village a place of roofs and chimneys. And the wind is rising, and the snow is falling harder'.

[Robert Morschel]

I do, thank you very much.  :D

[Judy Thompson]

lol, Robert.  this kind of snow doesn't avalanche, it just sits there and waits for the plow to come.

Or spring. 

There, now, doesn't that make you feel better.