Slushy Morning

Cambridge, MA—It’s a slushy morning in Cambridge, as those of you unfortunate enough to have ventured outside already know. Frankly, I’d rather not be writing now but curled up on the couch with a book and the cat, as my boots dry by the radiator, wet socks hung across the back of a chair at the kitchen table.

         The snow was beautiful last night. Schoolchildren weren’t the only ones praying for another day off, but all the workers and college students still hungover, looking up therapists after dealing with relatives and in-laws, and still running continually to the bathroom after all that feasting. You know what I’m talking about.

         The sidewalks are awful. Shoveling and salt are needed; an abundance of autumn leaves still unraked are strewn about, encased in snow and ice. This is a day for poetry, for hot soup, coffee, cocoa, young lovers lying in bed in pajamas, old folks sitting in their favorite chair, reading the news—but this is the news: what more to it?

-G.T. Evans