alone in the wind, with a soft, flaky, snowfall lighting on my cheeks, i shovel the pavement and whine about my lower back, but there is no one to hear my complaints. the breeze subsides. listen to the muted silence of a winter night. black windows stare at me from darkened houses. the snowflakes fall vertically now, like confetti celebrating the end of the world. a street lamp illuminates the quaint, white suburban sidewalk that, like a stage curtained off from the theater, has become a world unto itself, and it’s impossible to imagine life beyond the storm.
alone in the wind, i wonder if I’m alone in the universe. just me. little ole insignificant me, shoveling the weight of a world off my driveway.
and i look up. a light flickers from our family room window. and there, beyond the snow, in another dimension, another world of warmth and love, a world so very different than the cold, lonely driveway during a blizzard, I see a dainty, smiling face behind the glass. her tiny breaths condense upon the window. but I can still see her. she’s my daughter. and she waves a hand to me, fidgets a bit, and jumps up and down when I take my glove off to wave back.
i guess i’m not alone, after all. and now it’s not so cold.
This post was originally shared on my at-home parenting blog, The Daily Writer, which has long since vanished. I’ve migrated many of the posts to this site for sentimental reasons.