Snow

It’s been snowing for the past couple of days, and Mike and I took the opportunity to enjoy it. We walked about the historic part of town, then headed towards Forest River park. A few cars drove past us from the parking lot, but afterwards, it was just the two of us, no human trails or footprints to be seen. The ramp that led to the seashore was blanketed with snow. I hesitated, but followed Mike as he walked down it. The tide was low and the shore stretched wider than usual. There were mussels stuck in the mud under the snow- probably made a feast for seagulls later. The landscape was desolate, and we were, I decided, a pair of Antarctic explorers. The only question was, where were the penguins? 

Later, we drove along a part of the scenic highway leading upto Manchester-by-the-Sea that we hadn't checked out before. I oohed and aahed at the Gothic and Tudor mansions. The idea of being cooped up in one of these houses, especially in the snow, is the stuff that any period-piece fan's dreams are made of. I would be the lady of the manor and I could write a novel, or invite people over for grand dinners, or live out a murder mystery there. I spared myself the pragmatism, at least for the most part. But one has to wonder how these people managed their grand lives with just Crosby's for a local supermarket.

Today, there was more snow again, and I didn't have to teach, so I walked to Winter Island park in the afternoon and watched the quiet. There was one jerk of a seagull (there is always one, isn't there?) who had to spoil the magic and make loud, rude gurgle-barks. I walked away and headed towards a bench on the other side. I cleared the snow off one end of the bench, and planted my posterior there for a few minutes before I returned home.