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.

NYC is my home. Born in Sydney and raised by the sea, I love the world and any opportunity to be myself. I like saying the word puddle.

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