Last night, I sat in the recliner, legs tucked under me and a mug of tea warming my fingers. I watched the snowflakes tumble down slowly, so slowly, and cover the brown grass, the cracked sidewalk, the houses across the street.
Later, the snow turned to sleet. It slapped the snow covered ground, spreading an icy layer over the soft snow. The world looked brighter, cleaner. It was a magical place, blanketed in a hushed stillness. A cat sat in front of the glass door, staring out curiously, wondering.
Today, I can hear water dripping steadily from the roof. The sun shimmers down through the tree branches, creating a swirl of patterned shadows across achingly white snow. Cars zoom down the road, undeterred by the ice pressed into a smooth sheet across the road.
The heat turns off. The small yellow house is quiet again, quiet except for the tapping of keys and the soft snores of a cat.