“Snow Dance”

The sky thickened like pudding, clear and watery to start, gradually deepening until the colour was obscured by cloud. Ominous cloud. Scowling, gun metal grey cloud, loaded with menace and threatening Armageddon.

The first flakes were pellets no bigger than Styrofoam crumbs, and so sporadic that you couldn’t be sure they were real as they skittered at eye level past the window.

My rose tea latte was perfect, black and half-sweet, blistering hot under four inches of foam. Using a plastic plug in lieu of a spoon, I savoured the mousse while watching the snow pellets blossom into flakes, some joining forces to create frozen flowers, others flying solo, smaller but no less troublesome once their numbers increased. The line up at the counter lengthened accordingly as people streamed in, thinking to wait out the worst over coffee or at least get it to go and beat the blizzard home.

Snow has a funny way of falling. Some flakes float straight toward the ground. Others zip by at an angle, driven hard with no set destination. Still others dance like fairies in the wind, flitting back and forth, up and down; crystalline butterflies sketching zigzag paths against the winter sky. It’s quite simply beautiful. It’s even more beautiful with a hot drink, a warm scarf, and soft jazz playing in the background.

I take forty minutes to empty a medium cup. In the space of those minutes, the world went from bright and sunny to blazing white to the damp, dismal grey customary of February on the west coast. The crazy snow fell but didn’t stick. Like my half sweet black rose latte, it was just enough to be enjoyed without regrettable repercussions down the road.

That’s why I live here.

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It's been a while since I've done a writing exercise. A little artistic embellishment here, but basically this was how my Sunday morning went.