It's midnight and snowing in Reno. Little white flakes drifting lazily to the ground, getting caught here and there in a current of cold, dark air. Blankets and mittens are keeping hands and feet warm, tea and hot chocolate fueling everything else. I would wake up in the morning, Saturday morning, a day off, look out the window, and do a little hop of glee. I'd strap on my boots and wrap myself up in a big winter jacket and help tackle all the cars stuck in the snow downtown. Shoving with all my might on the count of three and then simply walking away once the car skids free. With shouts of thank you following. I'd buy a coffee and a cookie at Bibo and read in my favorite corner for the afternoon, watching the city burrow deeper under its white wintery blanket. At the moment when the hidden sun has nearly set and things seem just a touch dangerous outside, I'd wander home. Sliding around on the back alleys and avoiding strangers and tripping over buried potholes. I'd shake the snow off my jacket and stamp my boots four times each on the sidewalk and go home, where I'd bake cookies and think about all the Christmas decorations I'd like to put up, but never actually will.
But I'm here. Not in Reno. Trying to master the art of creating equally fine winter days, minus the snow. Minus the Bibo.