It had snowed during the night, a thick layer of whiteness all around. Walking to the bus stop early in the morning, I was cozy inside three layers of clothing. The snow made a crunching sound under my sneakers, as if squealing in happiness--somehow the snow knew it was my first time. I was happy. Nature in its pristine beauty had capped the treetops in heavy snow; the phat sound they made falling to the ground an affirmation of the gaiety all around.
Then I saw a pickup rumble past, the old serviceman at the wheels of his trusty four-wheel drive. The snow shovel had its place of pride, jutting above other cans and sundries in the trailer. It was 7:30 in the morning, and most of the sidewalks had already been cleared.
Maybe global warming is not such a bad thing after all.