Colin, Brantley and I walk out the doors of L’Almo.  Halfway through dinner Colin looks up and muses an observation that it’s snowing.  I turn around to see it for myself but I can’t and I wonder if Colin has some sixth sense that develops when you live in a city for a long time.  I noticed the way the air changed earlier, around 5 PM.  The clouds rolled in over the city in the time I had been indoors and the air felt damp against my cheeks.  Snow threatening to descend like welcomed locusts.

And it is snowing.  Softly.  It disintegrates on impact with the concrete, leaving evenly blackened sidewalks in its wake.  It’s so light that it doesn’t fly in my face or stick in my eyelashes; I cut through it like a breeze.  When it snows, the whole city feels padded and quiet, like everyone is observing some strange reverence for nature and other things we have no control over.  Or maybe it’s just me.

My apartment is only a block away and as I round the corner I hear some Sting song drifting into the air somewhere.  I smile to myself and think about moments like these in the same way that someone falls in love with another person.  The small, quiet moments.  The random things that stay with you until the day you’re not here anymore.

Munch is anxious when I open the door.  She’s probably needed to pee for hours.  I click the metal end of the blue leash to her collar and she whimpers and wheezes.  We walk through the two metal lobby doors and I’m back in the snowfall.  “Listen to Your Heart” replaces Sting as the song of the moment, which I find oddly appropriate.


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