I stepped off my back stoop this morning at 7:30. It was raining heavy, oily drops–not quite liquid, but not really snow yet, either.
I catch D as she’s bringing her paper in, and we walk for a while, the rain/snow vacillating about which it will actually be. After a half a mile, we stand in the mouth of a small side street and stretch half-heartedly, leaning on the wet pavement and providing an interesting picture for the few drivers who pass.
As we start out, the sky decides on throwing slicing ice at us for about a mile. The wind blows the ice into our faces. I regret, briefly, that we didn’t reroute for a short village loop. But once we make the turn west off the county route onto the country road that will take us out of Parish town limits into those of Mexico, the wind is no longer pressing us backwards, and the precip changes from ice to soft, wet flakes.
We talk; she recounts stories from her kindergarten class, I ramble about home improvement foibles. We discuss upcoming races and training schedules and our kids and hockey and dance and track and National Honors Society Inductions. We talk about our body parts: which parts hurt, locations of current chafing, where we’re cold and and where we’re hot.
We run over the train tracks, past the sheep farm, over the river. We pass abandoned farm houses, well-kept homesteads, and trailers with additions. We pass the sweet corn stand, and enter the town of Colosse, which, as far as I can tell, is nothing more than intersection on State Route 11 with a rustic (shabby) bar on one corner.
We wave to drivers that make room for us, most of them see us everyday. As we run the last stretch back toward home, we are quiet for a moment, as we are every once in a while, the only noise our breath and the occasional bird or dog. On this stretch we pass back over the river. The houses are couched in heavily wooded yards. The snow falls silently.
I remember how much I’ve fallen in love with living here. I love my little village. The snow and hard winters make be feel strong and hardy. I’m grateful for my kind and generous neighbors with whom we share meals and favors.