Genevieve; the Third of January by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 3

Though it was the most that the area had received in anyone’s memory, it wasn’t as if the mid-winter snow was all that much of an impediment to pooch play on Pacific Lane. The pooches all had four legs, and unlike the showoff bi-peds the dogs had seen on the net, if one slid, there were three others available to eliminate any possibility of a fall. It was more just that the overall feeling was one of that “something-has-just-ended” and the “new” replacement left a bit to be desired.

The snow was kind of fun, and as it was of the moist variety, it was also conducive to the construction of many Frosty-the-Snowmans.

But, that intermittent North wind could be brutal.

Fortunately for the playing pooches, thus far it had not yet demonstrated an ability to maintain any sort of capacity for more than a minute at a time. In fact, the Frostys, like those which Clement’s kittens had built in Lucky and Bella’s front yard liked its hardening effects.

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Mrs. & Mr. Snowman; property of the author.

It was that way since the evening of the first. The sky seemed intent on casting a continual dull pallor on that which it had whitened. It had taken away that which it had given. That would have seemed fair were it not so quickly done at such length. The sky had been bleak for two days, while it only took it a few hours to lay on the white cover.

Genevieve nursed her coffee while she looked out the window at the snow. She reckoned that she’d eventually take her morning walk, but was in no rush to do so. Any delays would only result in an increased outside temperature.

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Bleak winter; the kind courtesy of Pexels,com under their CC0 license.

Notions of night and day had visually blurred for her; and without dangerously resorting to her former computer habit, Genevieve had only the digits on her microwave to tell her the hour. Though the thing didn’t trouble itself to specify AM or PM, Genevieve was still on enough of a personal routine to know the A’s from the P’s herself.

She planned to again bundle up in her many-times-patched, blue winter coat. She was proud of all of them in their diversity. They were like little flags proudly tacked onto the coat of a war veteran. And there were a lot of them. Some pooches joked with her, saying; “When are you going to stop wearing those patches and get a real coat?” Genevieve always smiled and offered her patented reply; “As soon as it falls off.”

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Genevieve knew that the sky’s persistent gray would again make it feel as if it was ten degrees colder than the current thirty-two the outside thermometer read. This might be an uncomfortable level for the hominids she had seen on her computer. But, in addition to her coat of patches, Genevieve had her own natural white coat too. Basically, she was just very willing to sacrifice some degree of mobility for assured warmth.

Genevieve; the kind courtesy of Pexels,com under their CC0 license.

Her coffee depleted, she wrangled that “coat” over her head and onto her body. That operation was not as simple as it sounds, and necessitated a lot of contortions performed while rolling around on the floor. When done, she opened her front door and walked down her path to Pacific Lane, unable not to smile at the silly snowman the kittens had made for her.

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Genevieve’s silly snowman; property of the author.

“Hi, Mr. Silly Snowman,” she said, in a chilly but silly mood herself. She felt undeterred by the mere color of the gray sky and had a completely free day to be enjoyed ahead of her.

“What more can one ask for?” Genevieve thought.

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