Waking up to this blanket of snow is as unfamiliar as if I had stepped into a movie scene for White Christmas. This is the winter I imagined. This is what I expected from Connecticut. But we’ve had lovely, undefined days, mostly. The kind that almost ache in their beauty: winter sunshine stretching out as long as it is allowed to through the day, with long, moonbeam nights.
It’s the simplest things that catch you off guard. The slice of a file folder on the side of you thumb. A month of days passing by without permission. Friends having babies on the sly. Our little cat one day huddling in the crawl space rafters, the next day laying on our chests.
Anytime I think I have expectations beaten. Anytime I glance away for a minute. Anytime I think — or don’t think — “I’ll just catch my breath.” A surprise drops like a gentle spider from its candy cane lace.
Today the snow is falling, but my paper cut, I am happy to say, doesn’t hurt anymore.
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