Signs

Signs are everywhere; sometimes I heed the warnings. With the impending snowstorm, I couldn't wait to dig out my old sled and get it ready to go and spiral down the hill I've been on hundreds of times. Being my age, I shouldn't be contemplating sledding, but the inner child came roaring to life the second they announced we were getting a foot of snow.

As I loaded the plastic, bright green sled into the back of my SUV, the first flakes started to fall. I wasn't kidding when I said the inner child in me was alive again because I stood there, a mid-forties woman with two grown kids, and twirled in the driveway, head back, arms out to my sides, and delighted in the feel of the cold snowflakes landing on my face. I knew that that hill would glisten in the first rays of sunlight with its fluffy white goodness by morning, and I'd be there.

The following day, I sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and gazing out the window at the fresh pile of snow. Breakfast could wait; caffeine could not. After that first cup, I was ready to head out. I stepped into the garage and hit the buzzer on the door. The motor sounded, but nothing happened. Sign one. Puzzled, I went out the side door and around the front of the garage. A massive snow drift was pushed against the door and surrounded my vehicle. Now, I had to drag the snowblower out the side door, clear around the car, and head to the hill. Sign two.

The plow came through just as I pushed the last snow from the bottom of the driveway. This is sign three. Perhaps sledding wasn't in the cards for me today. More coffee sounded better.


WC: 300
"Daily Flash Fiction Challenge"