A blanket of snow covers up the neighborhood, the warm glow of the streetlamps reflect off the pure white covering the ground. Reflections are usually reserved for rainy nights, when the storm drains have had enough to drink and can’t stomach the waters that fill their maws. Thus, the overpour of water meet the gaze of the lamps and create an offhand impressionist painting. Tonight, there is no rain however. For another day I suppose.
There’s a man shoveling snow out of his driveway in the middle of the night. Perhaps he’s coming home from work, but there are no tire tracks indicating so. As I approach, I hear him mumbling something about promises to keep and no sleep. As I walk on by, I tell him to take care and warm up soon. Snapping out of his trance, surprised to see anyone out this late, he gives me a nod and warm smile, indicating I do the same. Where I’m coming from is not important. Only home is where I need to go. Trudging along the snow with my winter coat, the crunch and crackle beneath my feet, of footprints with promises yet to keep. The stillness of the night is peaceful and gives proper time to reflect. Life comes to mind, thoughts about becoming a better person. Learning how to cook more dishes, I never did write that novel, nor have I traveled much… Looking up into the cold stare of space, I’m reminded of how small we are and how nothing really matters much. That thought is quickly cut short after I almost lose my footing in the thick snow. I regain my balance and start to move again. I stop immediately however and, after some thought, I fall on my back into the snow and start moving my arms and legs. Up and down, left and right, back and forth. A little snow angel wouldn’t hurt anybody. Satisfied with my artwork, I pick myself up and continue my way homeward. Was never a professional artist, but it’s never too late to pick up a pen and pencil after all.
A half an hour of walking through the snow I finally reach home. I pick up the mat in front of the front door and take the spare key from under, as I purposely discarded my original. Unlocking and opening the door to a cold and half empty home. I apologize to my home for giving up on it, however I’m home now, and I promise to make it warm again. I move up stairs to my bedroom, my belongings strewn about with my bed being the only sight of comfort. It’s still made, somehow knowing I’d come back. After a quick shower to warm up the soul, I open up the window blinds and crawl into bed and under the covers, hugging my pillow tightly. I’m sorry I gave up on you. I’m sorry I decided to die, but I’m here. I’m still here. I promise I’m still here.
A blanket of snow covers up the neighborhood. The man has finished shoveling snow from his driveway, and a warm glow from the streetlamps reflect off the snow. A snow angel glistens tonight, for it knows, it has found its home.
