Snow finally ceases its sideways yowling, its sideways blowing like a yipping dog. Serenity reigns in the gray morning, a halo of white clouds and almost-blue poking through the chambered sky.
Long fingers of white settle upon the tree branches, laurels of late February. They blow off in puffs as the wind purses her lips. Sometimes the wind scatters the snow in a hazy cloud of white. Other times snowballs of fluff ride the waves of the wind to land in snowbanks swept with wind-breath. You cannot find the fallen fingers of white once the wind disperses them. They merge into the whiteness of landscape, individuality lost, reuniting with the forgotten rhythm of something larger than their former selves.
My right ear, way down deep inside, aches intermittently since last night. It bugles its pain for a tiny second, a sentinel on some inner shore, and then recedes. Another bugle of pain arises maybe a half hour later. I let Vitamin C ride down the throat to rescue whatever keeps the pain captive. Vitamin C to the rescue! The horses of vitamins charge into the underwater blood and ride the immune system toward the distant bugle. The army generals are probably meeting now in an inner dream, waving white flags. The ear ache will surely surrender as the vitamin whispers dreams of peace into its tunneled world.
An artistry of dirty dishes awaits at the sink. Pots and pans, helter skelter, memories of last night’s dinner, dream of soap and flowing water. Each vessel carries scent of barbecue sauce, garden pea pods, splashy red and yellow peppers, romaine.
Before pausing by the sink to watch a thousand bubbles dance on steaming tap water, I open the refrigerator and pull out the salad, the barbecue. Lunch! Lunch offers its own vessels, its own ceramic, to the heated pool. The dish cloth gently massages off-white plates etched with faint white tree branches and birds, wedding presents from more than thirty autumns ago.
White snow blows like tiny bubbles outside the window. My hands pause in the soap. Inside the bugler gently places his bugle against the ear drum, straightens his army cap, and links arms with the generals. The white flag shimmers in the wind beside them as their boots crunch in the snow.