The urge to write
As evening falls and the darkening sky settles on the white blanket of snow outside my window, the urge to write rises in me. Not being sure what I want to write about I sit at my computer with only the light from the screen shining gently on the keyboard. Ada sighs and relaxes into a deep sleep seeming satisfied that I will be spending some time near her click clacking at the keys. Shoulders and arms ache – a healthy pain of long, hard snow shoveling with all the neighbors in our parking lot this afternoon. A community of women and men, wrapped in coats, hats, scarves and gloves, shoveling and brushing, maneuvering the cars in and out while helping one another prepare for the regular work day in the morning.
So much laughter as the sun shone onto car roof-tops and snow blew down on us from the old, huge Chestnut Hill trees. These small moments of camaraderie mean a lot to me. For I have always enjoyed the kindness of strangers. Someone called me a saint as I pushed and lifted huge shovel loads of snow out from under their wheels. I chuckled aloud. "I am not a saint!" I called out, "I am repenting for all my past sins!" Wild shouts of laughter from all around. Scrape, scrape, shovel, shovel, crunch, crunch. As we finished with one car, on we pressed to another and another until all were cleaned up, shiny and wet and ready for the new day ahead.
I stumbled back into the apartment muscles complaining from areas in my arms and legs I had forgotten about. I took a long drink of cool sparkling water and looked around the kitchen.
What to do next?