From February 25, 2015
Everything is blue: the snow, the street, my breath coming out in puffs, the exhaust coming out of the few cars still out. Even the night air is blue, frozen and suspended in time. It feels like a scene painted onto canvas in heavy strokes.
Snow crunches beneath my boots. It is the only sound after the cars have turned off the main street and it cracks the air with gentle whips. My legs are numb and the muscles in my face are stiff, but it is calming to walk through the all but deserted streets. My body propels itself forward, towards home, and my mind wanders, escaping the immediacy of winter.
The footprints along the sidewalk begin to thin until it is just one set and the ones I leave behind me. Snowflakes drift on quiet wind currents. They land with the briefest of touches on my face, hovering just on the surface of my skin. They do not melt, my face and the night too cold for such heat.
The trail I’ve been following vanishes into the street and then it is just my footprints on the sidewalk. The prints are left perfectly intact for a moment before the falling snowflakes begin to settled in. And then the night swoops in, filling them with the blue that fills the streets, the air, the snow on the ground; with the blue that will surround me until I enter the warmth of home.