First Snow

I shove my way out the screen door, pushing snow aside with it as a makeshift shovel, while in my other hand the real shovel hangs useless.

I can't see my neighbor's house; everything is white, and besides that I've left my glasses off for now - they'd be useless before five minutes was out.

I'm wearing two layers of everything - two sweatshirts, two sweatpants, two pairs of socks, even two hoods over my head, with my thick winter coat. Inside I was boiling - out here I'm only barely warm, and snow is stinging my face, the wind whipping the second hood off my head as I struggle to hold it up. No, I think to myself, this isn't Northrend. At least I won't see any zombies.

We have about four inches of snow drifting in places, while others show bare ground: the snow is falling sideways, winds tearing at everything and creating unpredictable patterns. I suppose that evens out to two inches, after all.

The storm isn't over. It's just begun.

Seeing my neighbor, bundled up so that he's unrecognizable, I call out to him. "Nice weather, huh?!" He seems to like long walks. I can't imagine this one's pleasant, though.

He laughs, and I can hear him call back a faint, "Yeah!" before he's gone.

I dig out our small porch and down the front staircase, scooping off each stair carefully. Snow here now means ice here later, though trying to clear anything completely is a losing battle.

Making it down the sidewalk, I discover our newspaper buried halfway into the drift. Rain, sleet, snow or hail, I suppose - that's postmen, but our newspaper carrier seems to have a similar philosophy, so I run to throw the paper inside. I had only one thick pair of winter gloves, and my fingertips are starting to hurt from the cold. I have to remove my winter coat to peel the gloves I have off, then put a second, thinner pair on underneath. I should have done this from the start, I think.

Bundled up again in all of my clothing, I make it down to the front gate. The latch has frozen together, and it's difficult to pry it open. The chain link fence groans eerily as I drag it open.

Mom is seriously thinking of driving ten miles or more to make it to work in this. Apparently the interstate is completely closed, and no one knows how the back streets look. Given the wide stretch of open country that path runs through, I suspect it fares no better.

It takes everything I have to get the front walkway cleared, and a path out to our car as well.

The snow is still falling when, defeated, I run back inside, and the paths I've cleared before are already filling up.