In the unholy hours of 2-4AM, the snowstorm finally started to subside, leaving only the howling winds, soakingly humid and blistering at -29C/-20F, and about 1m/3ft of both powdery and wet snow covering 100m^2.
The only thing more numb than my hands was my mind, hardly a spark left to even be upset about the record-setting blizzard; but something else was there that had compelled me to wait so late into the night, logically I saved my energy for when the storm died down, but that was half of the truth. I didn't know what the other half was, and I still am uncertain. But I shoveled nearly all of it by myself, alone with my thoughts, the chorus of winter sweeping across the ice, and the very real threat of frostbite as I lose feeling past my wrists; only assured that they're okay because they weren't in pain and they still moved.
Then, after the front of the house was 3/4 cleared, at 3:30~AM, everything fell silent. The wind in the immediate area stopped, snow wasn't falling, nature held its tongue as the ice sat upon its throne. A courtyard I was never invited to, in which my presence felt actively unwelcome on a fundamental level, a place that I persisted through and rearranged for myself.
A primordial, humbling feeling of insignificance washed over me as the sigh of winter pushed us to the brink, that the only reason we had anything for it was due to the time we were born in, having the technology to forecast; but dangerous when the plow you rely on spontaneously broke down the week prior.
I would have cried at a time I'd forgotten how to, had I not known better to protect my face from frostbite. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"A young bunny dreamt of a cold, open expanse, blanketed with white snow the color of their fur. It was night and the stars sung beautifully across the faint blue dusk. The bunny was the most alive in this place."
The only thing more numb than my hands was my mind, hardly a spark left to even be upset about the record-setting blizzard; but something else was there that had compelled me to wait so late into the night, logically I saved my energy for when the storm died down, but that was half of the truth. I didn't know what the other half was, and I still am uncertain. But I shoveled nearly all of it by myself, alone with my thoughts, the chorus of winter sweeping across the ice, and the very real threat of frostbite as I lose feeling past my wrists; only assured that they're okay because they weren't in pain and they still moved.
Then, after the front of the house was 3/4 cleared, at 3:30~AM, everything fell silent. The wind in the immediate area stopped, snow wasn't falling, nature held its tongue as the ice sat upon its throne. A courtyard I was never invited to, in which my presence felt actively unwelcome on a fundamental level, a place that I persisted through and rearranged for myself.
A primordial, humbling feeling of insignificance washed over me as the sigh of winter pushed us to the brink, that the only reason we had anything for it was due to the time we were born in, having the technology to forecast; but dangerous when the plow you rely on spontaneously broke down the week prior.
I would have cried at a time I'd forgotten how to, had I not known better to protect my face from frostbite. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"A young bunny dreamt of a cold, open expanse, blanketed with white snow the color of their fur. It was night and the stars sung beautifully across the faint blue dusk. The bunny was the most alive in this place."