Freewrite

It snowed so much, I didn't think I would ever see it all melt. It was much different than a Boston snow, which, for the most part came down gently and had a tendency to cling attractively to muffs and fur hats, even eyelashes if one were so lucky as to have long dark ones.

These flakes were mean. They started as pellets that were driven like needles by the wind. I guess technically they weren't flakes. Eventually though, that's what they became--so many so close that you couldn't tell land from sky. I didn't want Nathaniel to go as far as the barn, afraid he'd disappear into the white and be gone for good. Of course he thought me silly and weak, as he often does.

It's all so new. I wonder sometimes how he's adapted so well. We both grew up on the coast, among fisherman and sailing ships, not seas of grass. I find this place open and daunting, but it seemed to embrace him somehow. He seemed taller, more sure of himself, eager for the days that roll into one another. He doesn't mind the lack of company or the endlessness of the work. I want to be more like him.

Ack, here I am writer-me and I'm bored. I wish it had snowed so much. I much prefer a pretty snow than the dreariness of ice. There is a little powdered-sugar sprinkling of white out there, but it was the freezing pellets and not flakes. They make so much noise on the windows. Almost like clacking keys. No sun. Just clouds and numbing wind roaring out of the north that makes the vent for the stove clank and clank and clank.

10 minutes for 1/5/05.