That would be the very loud knocker on my front door. Two young men wanted to know if they could shovel my snow. Manually. Great idea. No noise. No use of gas power to pollute the air.
How much? I asked
Pay us what you want, the tall one in the Grateful Dead jacket said.
Go ahead, I said, going back in the house and turning off my REM record. I was so cozy in the house. All by myself. Feeling cleansed and chastened and purified by the snow. And the silence. Don't you just love the silence of the swiftly falling snow?
I dressed warm and fetched a shovel off the backporch. A nice light shovel and joined them. I shovel very fast, then rest a bit, then shovel some moe. The snow was nice n light, not slippery in the least. Huge dark green township trucks passed back n forth on our street. I paused to wave to one of them in thanks.
When we finished one of the young guys ate some snow.
I joined him. Have some, I said to the other guy. It's free.
No thanks, he said.
What dyou think of the taste? I asked the one guy who had an earring.
It's good! he smiled.
Well, I've had better, I said, remembering my earlier post.
These young people don't know the former purity of taste of the snow like when I was a kid some 60 years ago in Ohio. Now that was delicious snow.
But, hey, this is passable, sort of like ice milk is to ice cream. The texture of today's snow was superb, a melt in your mouth you can't get anywhere othan frozen snow.
Scoop me another fistful from the top of my mailbox, please.
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