The Second Solstice
egw
He hates the cold. He was once thrown
from a car in winter and, unconscious, developed hypothermia. His hands are numb
in the cold, and gloves interfere, make him clumsy. But they live where there is
cold, there is snow. Shovels the driveway, fierce opposition to the forecast of
more. Paths form around wheels, salt falls beneath their soon-to-be tracks. Five
minutes and he stands, just inside the house door, shaking his fingers until the
feeling returns; he returns. He hates the cold, but he is not the only one in
this house, his car not the only one. More snow is coming. It falls even now. He
hates the cold, but he shovels the driveway, shovels the walkway. The birth of
clean cement, an act of hope, a refusal to acknowledge one's weakness in the
world. He hates the cold, but he shovels each time, not resting until clear.
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Snowqueen Kristen Kaniewski
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"Winter" Eliot Guinan