Manhattan is looking beautiful. Bright, sharp and clear, the skies are almost a periwinkle blue. The River Hudson mimics this and whilst great swathes of water are being flattened by the wind, there are no sea horses to be seen.
As children when we looked out to sea, if we saw breaking waves, the adults would suck through their teeth saying, “See those sea horses? Not a day to be sailing!” We could determine how rough it was simply by looking for the white manes of those fictional horses. That and listening to the shipping forecast. I still remember my father listening to it, the slow, soothing, monotonous tone of the broadcaster …
“Aberdeen. West 4 or 5. Becoming variable. Rising more slowly. Showers. Good.”
On and on for hours, surely a solution for insomniacs?
Outside it is bitterly cold with a sharp wind that needles its way through the minute gaps that separate one piece of clothing from another and between the tiny fibres of fabric. Walking on the sunny side of the street is more than just preferable, it’s necessary. And yet tomorrow there is worse to come. A snow storm is due.
I love a good storm. I love snuggling down, lighting the fire and finally having the perfect excuse to read and write all day. Sadly however, the apartment doesn’t have a fireplace and besides, the Colonel has different plans … our fortnightly trip to Costco. An hour’s endurance involving the subway, a bus and a metal trolley with wheels that come to an abrupt halt at every lump, bump and dent in the sidewalk. That’s a lot of sudden halts and a lot of broken eggs.
Hmmmm. One person’s pleasure is another’s pain. I think I shall continue to watch the forecast … but I do hope it’s good and snowy tomorrow.
Oh yes, I do love a good storm!