Snow-Covered Garbage

I wake up and run to the window to see the snow.

To run to the window is the only way — to commute toward snow.

There are no grownups when there is freshly fallen snow. There are only children in bigger pants: doughier, hunchier, bone on bone in rusty sockets with no collagen to spring from, but still always children, in the face of snow.

What was just a …