Let It Snow

Mile Marker 913:

10 years ago I had an apartment not too far from where I live now.

On a snowy night, I’d be traipsing around Old City’s colonial streets, hood pulled tight, jeans tucked into hiking boots.  As the white flakes piled up against the red brick buildings, I let time slip away. 

Now I don’t venture out till the sidewalks are thoroughly salted.   And even then, the only thing slipping away is me!

At Mile Marker 913, I watch snowflakes swirl in the lamplight.   They’re wet and cold against my tongue.  I feel my cheeks redden as they freeze on contact.

Things have changed in 10 years.  My body and home, my job and daily routine -- sometimes it feels like a whole new life.   

A snowfall is still exciting and magical.  But it’s mostly hazardous, slippery, and confining. 

Tonight, my Genium is safe and dry.  It is not tucked into hiking boots.  Instead, it's tucked underneath the dashboard of my car.  Despite its fancy functions, the Genium does not have snow tires! 

In this rush hour snowstorm, I’m heading home from work.  In 45 minutes, I’ve traveled exactly 10 city blocks.  Time is slipping away.

10 years ago I’d have cursed this wasted Friday night.  But tonight, I’m entranced by the diamonds fluttering above me.  Thanks to my car’s sun roof – or “snow roof” in this case – I too can be part of the fun!

And even though I'm not on a snow hike tonight, I've come far since the wintery weekend of Mile 305.   This year, as compared to last, I don’t worry as much about the weather.  My prosthesis is more comfortable, and even on a bad day, I'm not stranded upstairs.  My car stays parked in a low-maintenance garage, and I live in a neighborhood where the sidewalks will soon be clear.  Come tomorrow morning, I’ll be able to walk for real. 

That’s exactly what I do.  The next day, when the sun is high, I tread slowly and carefully through Mile 913.  What better motivation than a one-block trip to Starbucks? 

Gritty rock salt lines my path.  It’s not as pretty as glistening snow, but it gets the job done.   As I pass my neighbor Betsy's house, the colonial bricks have already dried in the sunlight.

Slush-covered curb cuts prove more dicey.  Melty footprints and tire tracks, I realize, aren't much better than ice.  I hold my Genium straight and tread carefully across Arch Street.  By the time I reach the other side, my whole body's rigid with tension.

A warm latté soothes the trip home.  To make walking easier, I head back on the opposite side of the street.  Even on a snowy day, the angle of the sidewalk is important.   

A patch of cobblestones stretches before me, not quite as dry as the bricks I passed before.  

I tap my toe into a puddle – trying to discriminate water from ice.

Finally, at the gate of my building, I’m flushed with both victory and relief.

Snow has lost some luster over the past 10 years.  Even on this brilliant day.

Think spring, Genium.  Think spring!