Today’s prompt is a beautiful picture of a new snowfall gracing a city park, an old stately building barely visible in a white out, the park pathway leading into it.  There’s one person in the picture behind his car, considering what comes next.  The snow is pristine.

Let’s consider the fallout, city workers clearing the streets with snowplows, sidewalks yielding to snowblowers and shovels.  Preparing for normalcy.

My experience with snow is colored by the gray of the clearing, sometimes using a snowblower.  Truth be told, I rather enjoyed shoveling.  Lorie says it’s a man thing, worrying every time about my impending heart attack.  Our old neighborhood required us to clear the sidewalks within 24 hours or be subjected to the neighbors’ disapproving looks.  As I aged, the task became onerous.

Then I agreed to move to rural Pennsylvania where we get even more snow.  Sure, it looks beautiful from my office window, trees bending under the weight of wet snow.  A winter wonderland.  But the beauty lingers in the aftermath too.  The town borough snowplow comes up the hill and uses our turnaround.  And in return, our driveway is clear.  There are no sidewalks, no disapproving neighbors.

Now when I look out my window, a knowing smile crosses my face.  Let it snow.