After the Blizzard

The snow has turned ugly. Dirty, brown, melting, and mixing with litter the street cleaners can't get to. Bags of trash piled on top of mounds of snow in the hopes that the sanitation dept. will make its scheduled rounds. Huge slushy puddles at every corner, brown footprints filled with muddy water. You never know how deep you'll step until your foot reaches bottom; this is, you may recall, how I sprained my ankle last year. This year, cautious and steady as I make my way along the sidewalks, covered with slick ice as the melting snow from yesterday's bright sunshine froze overnight. Ugly salt and ash on my boots, in the trails of gray water I leave with every step.

Yesterday, coming home from work, not bothering a soul, a snowball whizzed past my head and hit my front door just as I was putting my key in the lock.