It snowed last week. It was not the first snow of the year, but it was the first snow that felt like winter. Only a few inches fell, but I sense those few inches will be here until March. I look out my window and see fallen oak leaves poking out of the white. I wish now I would have raked my lawn one more time. I have no oaks in my yard, and I don’t know where the leaves came from. At second glance, I realize that most of the leaves aren’t poking out of the snow, but are atop the snow, meaning fresh ones are still blowing in from somewhere. 

I should have done it sooner, but I had to climb up into the rafters of my garage to drag down my snow shovels. I have four, only two to my liking, and those two are on their last leg. If this year is like last year, I will dawdle too long before seeking replacements, and the hardware stores will be out of anything worth buying. 

The snow came during the night, and I had to shovel as soon as I woke up. The reason I had to shovel wasn’t because big drifts were blocking my driveway. It was because Jack won’t step outside to pee unless I make him a pathway in my backyard. He won’t venture directly from the house onto snow-covered steps, but if I shovel both the steps and the cement patio at the bottom of the steps, he’ll cross the cleared off area and then bound into the snow once he gets to the lawn. It doesn’t make any sense. 

Even though the temperature is still in the low twenties, my hands and face got cold while walking Jack today. After thirty minutes, Jack turned around on his own, which he almost never does. Once he headed for home, he didn’t stop to sniff any trees or mailboxes. He was ready to be back in the house. Obviously both Jack and I need time to acclimate to the new season. 

Spring is only four months away. 

Steven Simpson