Whiteout

The snow started early yesterday afternoon -- first just a few wet, scattered flakes. Then dirty slush piles started to gather on the black pavement. Then the snowflakes started to swirl, whip, and pelt crosswise in the wind. Then the wind started to scream.

The view from our window went white, then pinkblack as dusk set in. Lightning stuttered. Thunder and wind.

I curled up on the couch, writing and watching Marilyn Monroe movies, an odd John Candy drama and later, together with John, remastered old Super-8s of Wings. All of the window blinds were pulled all of the way up. Snow filled in the corners of the windows.

We stayed up late and, when we turned out the light, the bedroom lit up in pink snow-glow.

I woke up late to bright white walls and icy blue sky, the smell of coffee brewing, and Wings on the stereo in the other room.

All of the blinds were still pulled all the way up. Sun warmed the apartment: the honey-colored floors, the baby blue couch, the white blanky.

John continued with Wings on the headphones and I curled up with a novel and some coffee. No plans.

All is well.