The Swirls of Life

Should I step outside into the swirls of wind and snow occupying the front of my apartment? From my perch on the second floor, it appears to be a struggle for anyone to overcome the ravages of early winter. A snowstorm the newsmakers say, yet not quite arrived here I surmised. Perhaps it is worth the assault of my boots upon the neck of bad weather.

It threatens me, with an attitude of suppression. No, I determine not to be held captive in the warmth and security of my apartment. It would be so easy to stay put. Some of my friends are awaiting my good cheer, and I believe it is time to get going.

Without further thought I rushed around at the speed of a tortoise, selecting warm clothing. Mitts and hat topped off my outfit---opening the front door I plunged into the melee. Whoosh, swat went the wind, stinging chill came from the blowing snow. But I held on, determined to see my friend Mike. He did await me at his favourite corner of relaxation outside his apartment. Under a large oak and observing traffic, he could easily understand the stress that ruled the streets.

His cloud of cigarette smoke informed all where he is resting today. Good morning I exclaim adding on the usual salutations. Although he is shy, allows a little peek into his personality. Good-good with the same sad demeanor he has shared with me for years. And I know Mike is glad for my company knowing I had to make a conscious decision to visit during a time of nasty storming.

After a short banter, since the wind was severe on my weathered face, I moved on. My usual path led me down Prince Street to a bench in front of the Post Office. A short while here is an opportunity to disperse encouraging comments to passers-by. And regulars who know me respond positively. Others continue their way trapped in the sadness of not being in charge of their lives.

Further walking takes me to corners on the street occupied by friends won over by my consistency and good cheer. And it manifests itself, especially in today’s blur of snow. Brr. Ray moans about his sore leg again. And ‘pillows’ squashes me with her ample bosom, yet delighted to share warmth in this moment of icicle-chilled weather. ‘Shaky-poo’ still struts about on skeleton legs, also proud of his place on this earth. His stutter is a magnificent reward from many hours of talking-practice. Once he had difficulty dragging words after an auto-injured throat.

These friends are comfortable with names selected for one another. It is a measure of the love we share. People meander by with small pooches and I am alert for their doggie bags. My keenness is aware of the nasty clumps left when not monitored. And I do my share of reminding them.

A return home journey is not without incident. My right leg demands rest and a massage helps counter numbness. It is in disobedience to my desire for remaining healthy. And a product of a stroke years before that lingers without permission. Yes, today was a usual thrill-of-a day in spite of the hurly burly of early winter.

© Richard L. Provencher