How I Noticed the Details

It was snowing as we walked to school yesterday morning. Not the blowing, sharp, icy snow that I grew up with near Lake Michigan, but big, fluffy flakes that landed softly and coated our shoulders and hats in feathery white. It hasn't snowed much this winter, and certainly we haven't had the chance to ramble through the snow the way we did yesterday morning.

The snow insulated the sounds of our commute, muffled them enough that I noticed details which are normally hidden behind the audible assaults of the city.
I noticed, then,

How I held my breath when I walked through the steam bursting from the manhole on Greenwich Street.

How we had to stop 6 times in order to allow Jonathan to emerge from his snow daydreams and catch up with us.

How I smiled my thanks to the man who greeted the three of us with a, "Good Morning, Angels!"

How the toe of my right boot lets in the wet.

How I gauged our timeliness based upon where in the route we met The Man Who Walks His Giant German Shepherd every morning.

How the corner deli smelled like burnt toast.

How thankful I was for the beauty of those big, white flakes.