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?