Cold Powder

I love the magic of opening my eyes, sitting up slightly and peaking out the window to see white. It is easy to forget it is a normal weather situation but becomes this miracle. The whole streets-cape is different. It is quiet and no footprints on the sidewalk yet.

A few hours later the concrete appears everywhere, feet sweeping it away. The distant sound of shovels scraping, the prettiest sound in the world. And a little bit of sadness fills my mind, like the day after christmas or when summer is fading. The excitement was short lived.

There is a man that lives above me that gets puffed by the time he reaches my floor. I can hear his breathing under the door. It happens everyday. Then onwards and upwards he goes, each heavy step stretching and creaking the wall beside my head.

299

I thought too much.

And I regret this, as part of the fun of the writing is just saying anything. Cause someone will understand, even if it is just one person. And that person may nod while reading or smile or close the page down and say “never again” or something to that nature.

I tried writing a comic strip today. It amused me. I feel that we are told we are bad drawers unless we have a standard. But maybe I just want to set a new standard that everyone sets themselves. It felt good to do and I shared it around the office. I doubt they enjoyed it as much as I did or even understood it. But that is not the point, I was creating and sharing like we all should.

Last night I sat beside an ice skating rink in Bryant Park, the Christmas stalls now closed and empty. Spending time with my good mate and just being in the space really made me happy. I feel home here and I imagined seven rats trying to walk across the ice and they were into it.