there is always the ordinary, and mixed in there somewhere the not so, I was just walking outside to move my car, outside of work, to park where I am now allowed, as to not offend the local signs, vengeful as they are, the clouds are a gaggle of grey, no, more of a singular mob, one great mass of bland nothingness for as far as I can tell, I notice people walking down the side street that I do not recognize, the warehouse across the street, closed so many months ago that the near presence of life startles me a bit, why would anyone be walking down this street when there is nothing here? I suppose it does not matter, just the matter of moving my car literally fifteen feet to a more preferred spot, under a tree, which is nice in the summer, not so much now, walking back to the office, cutting through the lot where I was not supposed to park, I notice a couple, and then a couple more, slowly floating down, snow, actual flakes, the kind you dream of when thinking of it romantically, individual flakes, each with their own personality, you can read each one down as it goes by, flows and floats here and there, flakes the size of fifty cent pieces and seen just as rarely, so very few, to stand there and admire, and the background world fades for just a bit, I forget about the drab urban sprawl, the faded yellow lines in the asphalt of the local street, various plastic wrappers tumbling by my feet, a retreat, into the recess of my mind, the little spark of a child, that first time you saw snow and after, waiting for the snow to pile up, the fun, the sledding, the snowballs, falling down and not getting a hurt or a scrape, snow angels, running around until your outfit is soaked to the bone, peeling off layers, hot cocoa with those little marshmallows, all in this moment, just the trigger, these little flakes in slow motion all around, no sound to them, a little kid still bound to those early experiences, and then, a honking madman at the local left turn signal, apparently the cretin in front of them has not turned in sufficient speed for them, there are honks of courtesy and then those of unbridled rage, these were the later, my trance broken, I soak in one more moment of this perfect snow globe, and then, back to my desk, my daily home.