snowbound
I keep wishing that tonight, without warning, will come a snowstorm so bad that Martin and I and everyone in this city is stuck at home; planes are grounded, it is too dangerous to drive, eveything comes to a stop.
If this happened, with nothing else to do, I would make tin-foil stars and hang them in our windows, and light candles to reflect off of them. We would huddle inside, taking turns checking on the progress of the snowdrifts, drinking tea and slowly depleting our provisions. Perhaps some brave and nearby friends would walk over to see us, but once they had come it would end up snowing too hard for them to leave, and they would stay the night; our apartment would be a pool of candlelight in the storm until we got too tired to talk.
I’ve been watching the weather, and it’s getting too late for even an ordinary snowstorm, but I keep hoping, imagining us when the sun came back out, perhaps on the 27th– we would emerge in the morning blinking, hand-in-hand, looking skinny and newborn just in time for the new year.