5”-8” snowfall on the ground, and the drifts absorb the sounds of the borough.
at 6pm, all goes softer, more serene. as if we all are readying to whisper to each other the tales of our day.
shoes go from slosh to slush to crunch to squinch. the lovely pitter-patter of locomotion.
somehow we’re all in it together, and home never feels closer than now. all around, soft flakes waver back and forth on invisible strings, as if wings failed, they decided to just ease into the wind, and see what would happen.