The little things

Outside the window the snow was beginning to

accumulate, two or three inches so far, the wind

whipping the flakes around in small white swirls

and the drifts slowly fashioning themselves into

what the gusts would make them in the cold.

The old man watched out the window for a few

minutes then let the curtain fall back into

place as he turned and walked slowly back to his

chair with a crooked gait worn into his bones

by the years and mile after mile after mile.

On the tv the volume was turned down as a

college football game played on screen, the players

moving out of their huddles and approaching the line

of scrimmage. A short run play up the middle resulting

in no gain as the refs came running into view to set

the new scrimmage line making it 3rd down and 9.

The old man turned his attention back to the large

bay window overlooking a bit of snow covered

lawn then the driveway coming into view from

the east and running along a small creek

a quarter mile or so down to the highway

the mailbox barely visible in the snowy distance,

the sideview of headlights moving along the road

every now and then with the long stand of trees

on the far side of the road obscuring the open fields

behind it, now blanketed with snow and quiet as quiet

can be sans the scattered ticking sound of snowflakes

quietly landing on other snowflakes.