Journalistic Intentions Encore

#Alone

         Millicent paused to adjust her knitted scarf and pull her toque down to cover her ears. Those few minutes permitted her to catch her breath. Large, feathery snowflakes swirled and danced to a tune only they heard. Several floated to alight on her eyelashes and dissolve as quickly as they landed. Their cool tear drops glistened on her wrinkled cheeks. Millicent sniffed.

         Am I barmy? Snowflakes were not ballerinas. Where were the frilly tutus? Snow was just that, snow. It forced itself on us, bullied its way into our lives. The cold precipitation certainly did not kiss anyone much less herself. Having to bundle up for winter forays was not the least bit romantic. Quite the opposite. It did count as aerobic exercise though. At my age and yes, I will admit to being seniorish, snow presented as an inconvenience. All I worry about is a tumble as I plod along.

         Millicent stomped her booted feet and snuck a glance at her muffled surroundings. The only sounds penetrating her space emanated as her own wheezing. Where had the birds gone? She missed their nattering, their tweets. Not even a random chittering or chattering invaded the solitude. She could almost believe this park with its towering sentinels did not exist mere meters from her suburban home. The thick blanket of white obscured everything. Even her boot prints had disappeared, been erased.

         Am I the only one crazy enough to venture outside today? Did no one else crave some brisk fresh air? I just had to see this white stuff up close, didn't I? It's not as if snow is a novelty. It appears every winter whether any of us welcome it, or not.

         Millicent blinked. A gazillion ice crystals refracted the bright sunlight. Prisms glinted. She sighed.

         Okay, okay. The snow is beautiful. Nothing compares. It shimmers. Wait a minute. Am I waxing poetic? Is this the dotage I've been warned about? Could I have blurted any of my musings out loud? Will that become a real possibility, talking to myself? Has this brilliance befuddled my mind? Could I have snow fever? I read about it, I think.

         With a deliberate shrug, Millicent clapped her mittened hands and set forth for home. Trudging alone in this all-white landscape she hurried.

         Maybe I should ring up a neighbour and suggest we meet up for coffee. Obviously, conversing with someone is superior to wallowing in my own thoughts.
No doubt the newest gossip will be delivered and dissected. I wonder if she has any baking to bring? I've walked off the calories already.

         430 words