A second helping of precipitation, of beautifully shaped flakes, each one pristinely clean and of course guaranteed to lift spirit and please eye.
Initially I wondered if I had gained a lodger, a new friend of some variety, perhaps a Norwegian rat, they are occasionally inclined to invade my space, not unlike their ancient countrymen whose long ships undoubtably first introduced their squealing personalities to this continent. More likely it would be a ‘wee timorous beastie’, a minuscule rodent that had either successfully survived the horrors of an Americana ‘Burns’ night or escaped the hell that is the Disney compound. However, both my half comatose guesses proved erroneous, the strange and somewhat eerie sound was being propagated by the repetitive tapping of snowflakes eagerly seeking admittance through my skylights.
Probably being in this instance the minority I was delighted to find, upon peeking around the heavy velour draught proof curtains several hours later, that the fall had stuck, creating but for the occasional scaring of displeasing but unavoidable tire tracks a consummate vista of purity as far as my ‘terrible eye’ could see.
This view, the pristine panorama so enchanted me that sleep was no longer desirous or practical. So starting a small blaze in the wood stove and putting a kettle on to boil I ensconced myself, clothed in comfortable dressing gown alone, in my favorite oversized carving chair to peruse the happenstances around the universe since my last inspection the previous evening. Unsurprisingly the world remained confused, divided and offended, all emotions I can understand but not share. I am too old, too jaded, too ‘unwoken’ to still consume and digest raw angst.
I can only presume I must have slipped into some sort of stupor or trance as I seemed to lose or at minimum misplace several hours till startlingly brought back to alertness by the particularly annoying twittering I randomly chose, from a selection of the equally banal, as the ring tone on my cell phone.
Am I alone in considering these infantile jingle-like creations, reminiscent of very worst nineteen nineties video games, utterly unsuited and inappropriate for an unquestionably vital component of urban existence in the two thousand and twenties? Perhaps such nostalgia is lost upon me, much as is the fascination shown by otherwise quite sensible individuals for the rekindling of throwback fashion or the spending of inordinate amounts of cash restoring junked vehicles to the tastes and outdated environmental conditions of their grandfathers era rather than those currently desired and experienced. This extra-curricular venting at an end I return to the main thrust of the story.
The call was from a dear friend inviting me to ride to and from Eastsound in her very comfortable vehicle, to take coffee whilst she completed a few chores. I of course accepted immediately without a second thought, having then to adopt full panic mode to ensure I was ready, presentable and reasonably pleasant smelling for her imminent arrival at my driveway. Thankfully I remembered to share fair warning about the ongoing blizzard, my home being sufficiently far up the mountain to experience weather from on high rather than the sea level from whence she would be starting out.
Hence I now sit quietly, warm and cozy, delicious sixteen ounce mocha, adorned with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles before me, happily able to type this narrative into my cell phones notepad, to be forwarded, transposed, edited, then posted to the blogosphere but a few hours hence.
Such are the trials and tribulations of a willing passenger upon the flag ship of unbridled surrealism.