2.10.15 And It Comes To Me

Went out along the roads, 20 miles an hour, all-wheel-drive car, but a New Englander, so not underestimating much. Out in the pasture, there are those cows who wander anytime they want, and I have a glimpse of them racing about, chasing each other, having fun in the snow. 

I don't usually go about during snowstorms, but there is something special I need to do. I stop at Atkins Farm. They're open, the whole place empty, except people outside with shovels, the older one saying to the younger "So, you're back in school now? “ As they take the time to get to know each other, trying to keep up with the storm’s snowfall. Nice, small businesses. Less turnover; you sometimes matter more.

There are enormous front-end loaders all over the place, brought out especially for the big-o storm. They’ve made me smitten since I was a child. Something so dinosaur about them, like great beasts. 

There are children running about, flopping in the snow; living in an area where they are growing up having the same parents, together or not; the same homes; not too many changes. Food. Warm clothes. Nothing is perfect, but these contribute to a good beginning. Not everyone gets these normal-enough things.

The errands done, I carefully drive off to an appointment given me by an old friend, to use her gifts to support my health. 

After that remarkable support, I begin my way home, the storm settling, the roads littered with pickups and their plows.

I turn down a steep hill, and one pickup has pulled into a driveway, after not making it up the hill; I see they slid into the soft shoulder, but got out. They end up on my tail, and after a few minutes, pissed off at my slow speed, I hear them gun their engine to pass me, fishtailing their way down over the deep bump of the railroad tracks, and off around the corner.

 I've been passed by motorcycles and cars, so many times come to find them rolled , down the way. As the silent road uncurls before me, trees leaning in.
I approach the wooded area of the mountain range , that leads up up to my home. All through the woods shine golden Beech leaves, against the darkened skies, and the grey and white expanse of forest . 

And it comes to me.
There is always the catching of your eye, and then the pulling over.
No matter the weather, it can't be helped.