Boots on the Ground

Over the weekend, inches of snow fell. Plows cleared the roadways. Drifts built up on the roadsides and sounds softened, smothered by the fluffy cover.

On Monday I wore my boots to work, navigating with ease the salted sidewalk to my office after leaving my husband’s car. Warm. Dry. Happy.

The post-work journey encouraged creative thinking. With no shoveling elves to be found, slush frosted the sidewalks, a treat from December. Packed, dense snow awaited me at every corner. Distracted drivers with partially scraped car windows drove past, ignorant to the danger.

I repurposed my white cane as a walking stick, held out in front of my body. The path familiar to my poor vision, I moved without hurry, following a collection of footsteps that came before me. My breath billowed, a small cloud. I stomped through piles to cross the streets. I crunched through gray mounds to board and to exit my bus even though I had the best driver that afternoon (maybe I will write about her) and she idled precisely at my stops.

I picked through more snow, past a police officer writing up a citation on a fender bender, feeling relieved I didn’t have to deal with driving hassles anymore. I plodded along, secure in my method, a gentle wind greeting me at irregular intervals as I continued and eventually reached my destination.

I enjoyed my mini-mountaineering travel in my boots. Every day? Maybe not. But on occasion, it’s nice to have something new to experience.

How does snow change your routine?


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