The Brick House

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I've been sitting here for forty-three years now, and if you think that's long you must not talk to many houses.
No, I'm a youngin', this'll only be my forty-fourth winter. You'd think once you'd seen one, you'd seen them all, but when you stand as still as I do, you start to notice subtle differences.
Like the year they cut back on plowing, and the streets filled up faster, or the year the garbage trucks took it extra slow.
And you notice more subtle stuff too, the way the smallest change in the wind can effect where the powder lands ever so slightly.
And how your family deals with it, of course, if the kid's are excited, or if it just holds them up. They're all gone now, and Mrs. Jones too.
But me and Mr. Jones'll stick it out, weather another winter.
He loves the snow, can't get enough of it, sometimes overreacts, and who am I judge?

This one? It's not too bad, we've seen worse. Pretty though. Nothing like that first snow.

Created: Dec 11, 2010

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