The Snow

I like early early morning, 4 am or so, when everything is tired and close. You may find yourself on a couch, in a warm bed, head on shoulder in the backseat of a car. It's 1:11 am in Baltimore, the crisp beginning of another snow day. It's been something of a Snowpocalypse at school but don't worry. We've been busy: cooking and drinking and running and sleeping and reading and laughing laughing and stopping. We've found ourselves in a blackhole, living without time or management. The days have been shapeless and timeless. At this point, we can't distinguish hours or days, we can only remember the last remarkable thing indoors. Outside my window, I can see a shopping cart, empty and stuck in the snow. Is it symbolic? I think it might be. It's an ordinary shopping cart, pedestrian and helpful. And yet, in the snow, it's something graceful, formless, it has no meaning other than to stand still, and wait.