After the storm I leave the bike dry in the vestibule. The salt cake from the previous storm has been washed from tubing and gears, so I give it a break from the grime.
On the corner, no bus. I walk and am rewarded well.
Brilliant white clutching to every limb and twig. Morning sun dancing about, seemingly caught in the park’s white maze, increasing in luminance as it bounces branch to ground to branch to eye. Shrouded with snow, the trees seem to shrink the darkly dressed humans to ants as they stroll along the troughs cut through the thick blanket. The AM dog convention is proceeding in earnest in the ball fields. Clutches of humans stand in self-selected clumps laughing and sharing tidbits of news while their grinning beasts bound through the thick snow chasing balls, joy, others. Ice and snow has collected in the hurricane fence around the batting cage and the sun glints through a thousand little crystals. Yesterday’s packiness means solid snowmen and forts abound this morning.
White surrounding the streets leads you to forget for a moment the shabby brown and grey. Slush is already beginning to grasp the corners and flood the ramps, but as yet it brings smiling sidesteps rather than grumbled curses. I descend (to the subway/the stairs) with a smile.