I awoke this morning at 5:30. No particular reason. I opened my eyes, looked at the clock, and decided that it would be better to get started with the day than to go back to sleep for just two hours, risking grogginess.
I'd forgotten about the snow.
I peered out in the still darkness of this brand new day. A blanket of white was all around with sparks of light winking here and there. There were no tire tracks yet through our neighborhood street. No footprints on the sidewalks. Just freshly fallen snow winking, sharing a secret with me.
Rich is up now, making his good morning sounds. Shower water tinkling. And soon stumbling to get dressed. Splashes in the sink as he shaves. The sharp click of the medicine cabinet. And maybe, if I'm lucky and if he's happy, a little morning song belted out for just me. I look up at the ceiling, knowing without seeing.
And so this morning, like the snow, started quiet and blank, new and empty. Cars are starting out through the street, crunching new paths. The sun fills this room just as my mind is filling with thoughts of things that must be done today. The stillness of the snow's secret a quiet sleepy memory.