We recently had snow in Victoria, BC and it inspired this short story. I hope you all are having a nice December and, just think, it’s almost Christmas time!
One Leg at a Time
“Here are your pants and coat,” mom said, handing them both to me. I was eight now, and there would be none of this put on my clothes for me nonsense. It was a one leg at time routine, sure and steady, pulling up the waterproof red pants over my fleece leggings.
Now in the warm outfit, I slowly made my way to the front door as my bulky legs wouldn’t let me go at the quick pace I wanted. Mom had to help this time with putting on my boots as bending over would have thrown off my balance and sent me headfirst into the wooden shoe rack.
First, she put the plastic bags that once held loaves of bread over each socked foot, one at a time. No snow was going to dampen my feet if we could help it. Then I dove my wrapped feet into each boot held in place on the ground by my mom’s solid grip. No need to ask how I knew that grip was such a good one.
Snow is on the ground here in Victoria. Victoria, BC, Canada. And more is falling as I type at my Ikea desk. I look out my window between typing lines, checking grammar, and munching on shortbread.
This is christyb, and no I didn’t bake the shortbread. Thank-you Safeway.
Poets are inspired by scenery like what I see outside my office window. Snow-covered roofs are likened to quilted blankets and symbolic images of a cold heart. The possibilities are endless. Or at least when the poet is in a creative frame of mind.
Ahh the snow is here
The poet can type at their keyboard or scribble a handwritten note regardless of the weather outside. Temperature of 40 degrees Celsius? I can still type. 20 or 90 degrees? Yup, same thing.
My fingers dance over the keys as I hear the scraping of a snow shovel in the property behind me. A grating noise.
We can tune out the landscape, the sound of the shovel, and instead tune into our thoughts. Transfer thoughts to MS Word?
Complete the poem?
Well, it’s coming along.
No need to rush. And who knows, maybe the snow will even get a mention in the poem.