I mouse around the house in my solitude, grateful that I can stay home today, grateful for my long sleeved t-shirt, sweatshirt, fleece sweater, neck warmer, corduroy granny pants and fuzzy socks, grateful for the kerosene stove, hoping that the gas will last, dreading the thought of going outside to refill the tank.
Tokyo’s rare snowfalls are normally things of wonderland beauty—large, wet tufts of snowflakes falling gently and covering the world with cotton candy fluff.
Today’s snow is not one of those snows. Today’s snowflakes are small and independent, each going its own direction, driven by gusting winds, swirling and eddying off the neighbors’ rooftops. Haphazard flights, confused, chaotic, they make kamikaze dashes against my window. The dejected sky is grey and heavy. I open the window to take a picture and snowflakes attach themselves to my eyelashes and camera lens.
I heat a can of tomato soup and toast a stale English muffin, make a cup of coffee and eat the last chocolate truffle.
The narrow street is nearly impassable. A single soul stumbles through the ruts, trying to protect herself with a collapsing umbrella. The news reports that the trains are shutting down.
I shrug more deeply into my comforting layers of warmth and whisper thanks for silver linings.