February 14 2008, 08:34 PM Travel Advisory

Yesterday morning, standing on the porch with a cup of coffee, I made an executive decision. "Look here," said the season, "I have now woken, an covered all you see with soft snow an hard ice. I have laid vast waste to your walking route, and I sneer at your boots and your silly walking stick." Steam tumbled furious from the cup, and I opted then to take the bus. On the way out the door, with plenty of time, I grabbed the walking stick anyway. I likely should not have done that: on the way down the hill (slowly, slowly) I rounded the bend just in time to see the bus zip by.

Well, damn.

If the weather wanted a fight, so be it. The first chunk of the jaunt is a bridge, which is always amusing for the wind (howling up the valley) and the ice (bridge freezes before, etc.). That was somewhat poor. Past the bridge is a long curve of pavement, notable on mornings like that for it's poor, sad status as one of the last bits of city sidewalk to be cleared on any given day. Well, fine: I had my walking stick. And somewhere in there, ten minutes later, the actual bus I had been trying to catch went zooming by.

Well, damn.

But: these things work out. Once I got into the woods, the snow underfoot was no longer the dirty salt crusted stuff that skulks near roadways, but rather white and crispy, handily packed by the brave and unseen joggers that braved the dawn. The slopes were gentle and navigable, and bewildered birds sang into the snow. At one point, a hawk in the distance found something tasty and fell from the sky (I do not know if it succeeded). I got passed by someone commuting on skis. It was tremendous.

Today the flinty sun shone down to dry pavement that had been cleaned. The drivers were less timid; the air less close.

It is time for toast and tea.