Snowy Commute

Wrapping my plaid scarf around my face, I head out my front door. It’s early, the overcast sky adding to the darkness of the winter morning.

The stillness captivates me, the crunch of my boots in the deep snow is the only sound as I make my way to the bus stop. Lazy flakes continue to fall, and glittering trees turn the plain street magical.

The first snowfall was always exciting.

Similarly bundled faces greet me as I take a place near the bus shelter, and I return their muffled “Hellos” with a courteous nod.

The air around us fogs from our combined breaths and the sound of stomping feet is loud as we try to keep our toes from freezing.

We focus our stares on the slow-moving traffic, hopeful our ride is just around the corner.

It’s snowing harder now, the flakes hitting with stinging force against wind-chapped cheeks. The same frost that coats the trees now coats my eyelashes. I don’t think it looks as nice on me as it does on the trees.

As the minutes tick by without any sign of our bus, the frozen landscape no longer seems so mystical. Booted feet shuffle restlessly, and scarfs are pulled tighter as a sort of desperation fills the surrounding group.

Using my teeth to pull my glove off, I check the app on my phone. “Delayed by 20 minutes,” I gasp.

A collective groan from my fellows before someone mumbles. “Damn. I miss summer!”