second snow

It's been a while. It's snowing again. For me, it is still novel.
A second childhood of sorts. I doubt if I can communicate what I
feel about the snow, I'm not sure of it myself. The snowfall's a
relatively familiar stranger.
Flurries which melt on the ground and leave a covering of water
on everything. Traffic runs faster, as if trying to outrun the
snow. Cars whiz by, and the bus drivers maneuver aggresively with
a new-found skill.
People are quieter, withdrawn into themselves, staring silently outside
the windows. When they talk, it has a forced politeness, an intensity
which wasn't there before.
The signal changes, and I jog across the street. The store's emptying,
people are leaving, coming out the door wide eyed. They know they should
be complaining about the snow, but the cynicism hasn't caught up yet,
for the moment, they are happy at nature's caress, ignoring how cold
it is. The girls at the cafe counter are happily chitchatting in the
absence of people to be polite to. I want to hang around just to watch
them chirp away, but have no excuse, so make off with my order. My mind
can't seem to settle into anything particular, so I head out home.

Daily routines run their course and leave me gratefully into a precious
solitude. The backyard is covered, carpeted in white. Seems so very serene.
I want the serenity to open up and swallow me up. Or failing that, rise up
and seep into me. Like it does to the gaunt leafless trees, fingers reaching
toward the sky. I'm grateful and restless at the same time, like a kid who's
given a new toy and then put to bed. People stop by and leave. Electronic
fingers that stroke and pinch and wave goodbye. Time to retire.
Got schemes to hatch. Plans to make. The changing edge of season is not
to be wasted.