I can't stop reading stories of people stuck on the highway in their vehicles, crawling into the backseat and sleeping as the snowdrifts pile around their tires. No exit, no entrance.
We're lucky out here. Maybe half of the anticipated snowfall reached us, and while a cleared driveway is a long way coming, it's not an impossible dream. I dug out the back of my car although there's hardly any clear path for it to back down. A tiny flake of freedom.
That's the most concerning thing about natural disasters, besides the obvious potential loss of life and property. Snow falls in a gentle but persistent paralysis. We are pristinely immobilized, confined to windows and icicle reflections. Time churns. My mind drums, drums.
The shovel brought back a whisper of the old calluses, padded yellow and soft orange discolorations. Flex knees, heave snow. The wind and I play catch; I toss the snow over my shoulder and it whips back into my face, sticking to my too-long ponytail. We become bolder, start playing chicken. I throw the snow recklessly. We dare one another to turn away first.