Singing in the snowstorm by Sam Prosser

Snow. Stuck. Subaru stuck. On the side of the hill. Four miles to get home and it was late at night, eleven or maybe even later, and there was no choice. Rooting around in the back of the wagon, a two-wheel drive piece of shit, you layered up. Everything you had you wore, hats, scarves, two extra tee shirts, two pairs of socks, more gloves, one over the other, another coat, another sweater and that was that. Locking up, you shook herself and tried not to think about it. The date. Your first proper date in ages, like with a dinner, wine, all of it, a real living date in the city. And now this. A snow storm, a shit storm, at least the sky cleared up for eight minutes exactly, the moon lit the road ahead for you to stride up another mile, in theory stride but it was more of a shuffle, and then look for the turn to the right at the crest, follow the tracks to the south for another three miles, hope to find the gate under the drifts, climb it if needed, and that final quarter mile. So close, you were almost home, home to the cabin, no choice, so you walked, jeans tucked into boots, hands deep in jacket, you tromped through the untouched snow banks, on the way home. Step by step. Singing your mom’s songs, songs rich and ripe with memory, tasting of warm beds and smiling eyes and cool hands tucking you in, her green eyes and shy soft voice singing to you. And so, deeply darkly chilled, you walk and sing. Four miles. In the wondrous storm of body and memory, longing and desire, comfort and cold, you walk and sing to the skies, and home is there, cold and dark, no one’s home though, not now, no longer that place of family. She’s gone. Done with you. It’s just you and the dogs. And that’s why you had to come home tonight, for the dogs. Your sweet cold bored hungry lonely silly furry loyal loving dogs are stuck inside and then they barrels past you, nose to snow and you laugh. You laugh with Mister Peakers and Sasha in the midnight air, the snow tickles your cheeks and your dogs plays. You sing for them. And throw a snowball.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s