the first real snow of the season, easy to admire the beauty, that childish urge to rush to the window to observe the wonder, even at work, back at my desk, I feel the urge, so I do, scurry out for a peak or two, a proper snow storm looks like it will never end, “is it sticking” is the always refrain around these parts, and today, yes, the ground was quite cold enough, as when I woke up there was a 25 sitting in the thermometer, well, on my phone app, so the world was quite prepared for the coating, that pristine white coating, like all perfect things the shelf life is quite fleeting, so instead of losing the moment, I decided to drive down a few miles from the office, a place I have been before, but sometimes there are a few too many people there for my taste, for me to enjoy the view in a singular fashion, this evening, not so much, not a soul, a historic place, a bridge to nowhere these days, but there is just something about places like this that remind you of the age of land and the faint of man, footprints, so many, have crossed this path, even founding fathers, british soldiers, and now just adjacent to an ordinary brick duplex apartment complex, such the juxtaposition, the position of this relic, preserved, of the past, in cosmic time a blink, in our time many lifetimes since, times we can only read about in books, the time that made the faces on our bills and coins in our pockets, a war, so long forgotten that those we fought are considered our closest friends in the world, a big brother, so to speak, we even love, as people, to follow the comings and goings of their royals, once the ones with the very thumbs that capped our freedom, to be in a place, from that time, this was not America, this was an extension of a foreign power, a foreign hand, so so long ago it seems, so here we are…

epilogue: I leave, quite cold from ‘braving’  (not very brave but my hands were cold) the weather, clicking photos and capturing videos out by the water, the snow is already turning, the plows are churning scraping down the blocks, by the time I get home there is full on rain, the once monolithic white blanket is mere ice soup, with clumps of cream left here and there where the rain has not corrupted yet, and I pause to think back, at least I caught the time, the moment, took the time, spun in the storm, captured a moment, now gone.

this place is New Bridge Landing (more info here), and they hold events as well…