Tree comes down. The condo is a mess of needles and old cardboard boxes. Outside, I see branches gently touched by snow.
A friend writes from Warsaw: no snow this year for Christmas. I want to say – tides do turn! We’re getting close to a record amount.
Tomorrow’s forecast: winter storm. I’m to drive to Chicago. It may be slow going.
But the days, they're moving fast now. It’s like when you flip the hourglass – the last grains plummet.
Goodbye decorations. How will the world be when I unwrap the toilet paper next year to take each one out?
I drive down to pick up a daughter on State Street. Goodbye State Street snowflakes.
The street is nearly empty. A bike leans against a snow mound. A bus – one of mine, the one I take from work, spins past me. Empty.
The boxes of ornaments are stacked in my storage room. End of holiday season.
I call down to Muramoto for sushi.