Got up fairly early this morning and noticed there was a lull in the snow falling, so went out and shoveled the porch and sidewalk. Just did it again not long ago, but it's coming down now, even though they say the worst is yet to come.
I was stopping every few feet to lean on the shovel and admire the unique reality snowstorms create. The world feels smaller, more intimate on a day that feels bright despite the clouds and the falling flakes, and sounds echo in that strange snow filled muffled way that makes you, or at least me, grateful and happy to be alive in it.
Maybe that's because I rent an apartment and shovel the snow to keep my rent from going up in a little deal with my landlord. So I don't have to worry about the gutters getting too weighed down or the snow damaging the roofs or the runoff when it melts seeping into the basement etc. like my homeowner friends suffering through this. Especially those in areas getting even more snow than we are here and who already had more than us to begin with. (And I measured over twelve inches out front already).
There wasn't anyone out this morning at all, and very few this afternoon. But surprisingly, the mailman came! Just like the old slogan promised.
The main piece of mail was a copy of the poet Lewis Warsh's new novel A PLACE IN THE SUN. It's a nicely produced book from Spuyten Duyvil that I already read and dug in galleys (pre-brain surgery). It's a mix of literary and pulp genres that makes for a sometimes challenging but ultimately engaging and fulfilling read.
Or as I said in the "blurb" I wrote for it: "Lewis Warsh brings his poet's sensibility to a mash up of literary and genre fiction techniques—including constantly shifting perspectives and unexpected interconnections—to create an intriguingly compelling and deeply satisfying reading experience. I loved it."