Snow

It snowed out the night before, a thin sheet of white glow, on the rooftops of the city. I peeped out of the window to see a flood of dim pink light in the murky distance, "a fog" said Maheep. I thought it should have been time, but Maheep's the resident NewYorker (in Long Island) and I'm the long staying tourist. The sun roused me from my sweet slumber, a bright mess of light rays showering the whole room with a warm glow. I glanced at the sight 11 storeys below my apartment, and i was right. It snowed at night in the East Village in Manhattan. The grey roofs were painted with a coat of white ice, shining in the warmth of the sun, which didn't happen to be too warm that morning. Nevertheless, I took a picture from my window of the spectacle that will soon cease to be a novelty to me. It snowed again last night, and again in the evening. I hungrily trudged towards "Wingz" through an imaginary field of white snow dressed in a long sleeved shirt, jeans and sneakers, feeling the wind on my face and the snowflakes falling on my skin one by one. Like little frost ants, each one took a bite as soon as it landed on my skin. Falling down from an indeterminate height, blown onto my skin from an indeterminate location, each posessing a unique crystalline shape, every flake of snow was an individual creation, every one possessing a life of its own. I chased the flakes with my tongue for a minute or two, watching as each frostie danced along with the cold wind and playfully dodged my tenacious tongue trying to touch them. And then i decided one cotton shirt was insufficient cover even for a commando, and i took refuge back in my humble abode, a pound of "Slam Dunk" (the hottest they've got) Buffalo Wings in my hand, and a mug of honey green tea on my table.