A Walker in the Suburbs

A dusting of snow. That’s something we’ve heard this winter — because along with the foot-plus of the white stuff “Snochi” brought us — and the two inches or six inches or (add your total here) we received in December, January and February, we’ve also had our fair share of dustings.

It’s hard not to think of confectioner’s sugar in these instances, sifting it onto a pound cake or sheet cake or, as I’ve done once or twice when ambitious, stenciling a design of powdered sugar.

The snow-dusted yard is still itself. The tufted grass, the untended garden, the fallen log, the bare patches — these are not obliterated as with heavier snow fall. They are highlighted, accentuated.

But they are also beautified. In all their imperfections.

Out and about yesterday, noticing with each turn how snow transforms the landscape.

First, it softens. That which was sharp is rounded; that which is sparse is full. It is landscape’s pancake makeup, its concealer, hiding blemishes, wrinkles and lines.

Next, it obscures. Mounds of white stuff pad corners so I can’t see around them. Parking lot mountains loom where I least expect them. Shortcuts disappear; only the straightaways remain.

And of course, it beautifies. It does so with utmost nonchalance, but it does so just the same. The little triangle park in Lexington, a bench and a lamppost, of no particular note, becomes a still life. The snow drapes itself like an expensive fabric; it sees more in us than we see in ourselves.

Four years and a week after Snowmageddon we finally achieved the right mix of temperature and liquidity, of moisture from the Atlantic and cold from Canada. The models were right on — and we have a humdinger of a Nor’easter.

It began last night as I drove home from work, the first flakes dancing in the air, hardly visible in the looming dark. “Be where you need to be by 7 p.m.,” the meteorologists said, and I barely made it, arriving home with only minutes to spare.

The coating I went to sleep with has, uh, filled out nicely during the night, and outside is 10 inches or more of the white stuff. The last time we had this much snow I started a blog. This time I’m just aiming to get the laundry done.

But house work, creative work — none of it matters.  What matters is the pause, the break, the caesura.

No one is going anywhere. And that’s fine with me.

Weather forecasts told us the rain would freeze, that sleet and snow would fall, so in anticipation of being sidelined today, I went for a jog yesterday in what I thought was light rain.

Not for long. As I ran, the rain grew heavier and colder, it took on substance. It didn’t hollow out so much as beef up. It meant business.

This was not January’s fluffy stuff. This snow has clung and settled. It has hemmed me in — at least for the morning.

But afternoon is almost here.