Holocene

Play this while you're reading this I think:

I was just thinking about how much I like snow.  I wonder if I can afford to go up to Tahoe this year.  Just imagine: me and some of my closest California buds go up to a cabin and drink hot cocoa as it snows.  We'd sit by a fire, wet and cold from fumbling around on skis/ice skates (and one snowboard b/c one of us, no doubt, wanted to act cool).  Later that evening, more like the middle of the night, as the snow began to fall again, someone would suddenly be struck with an urgent desire to make snow angels.

"It's too fucking cold!"  I'd say.
"It's too late; I'm tired and in my PJ's," someone else would add.
"SNOW ANGELS," my friend would persist. As if that's all we needed to hear.
"You go right ahead,"  I'd say.  Because that's the kind of person I am.  "But I'm gonna stay right here."

My friend starts putting on her snow boots, right on top of her pajamas.  "Come on, guys!"  She's got her jacket on now and is looking for her mittens, "it's gorgeous out!"  She's right.  The lights around the cabins bounce off of the snow and make it almost blinding.  The flakes are falling soft and thick; the kind that collect in your eyelashes.

When I was a kid, I used to walk around at night when it was snowing like this and pretend I was trudging alone through the arctic tundra.  I was undoubtedly scouting some epic magical force.  Something grand and enigmatic.  There was always magic in those games.  Because that's the kind of person I am.

My friend darts out into this slowly growing snow kingdom, then plops backward with a laugh.  She gets stuck for a moment, wriggling awkwardly to stand.  Eventually she gives up and lies into the soft snow drift, making her angel where she fell.  My other friends are already dressing to join her.  They can't resist a this moment.  I stand in the doorway, barefoot and shivering.  I didn't have enough sense to leave my cocoa by the fireplace, so fat snowflakes land gently in my cup.

"Mel, come ON!"  They shout as they run past me into the snow.
"No way,"  I say. "Me and my cocoa are staying inside."  I take another sip, then open my mouth to surreptitiously catch some snow chunks  on my tongue.

As she's walking out a friend picks up my boots and puts them at my feet, "Girl, this isn't a choice, we're all going out in that snow."
"I'm not,"  I can be very assertive.  Especially when I'm wrong.
"It's gonna be fun!"
"It's gonna be cold.  And when you come back in you'll be miserable and have wet pajamas."  Especially when I'm wrong.
"I guess," she says and runs out to join the others.

I stand in the doorway, laughing with them until my toes start to hurt from the cold.  Shutting the door behind me so the snow doesn't follow me in, I pad back to the fireplace.  I lie back on the hearth rug to wait and listen to the fire's crackling accompaniment.