More than a foot of snow fell in New York City yesterday. The weird thing is, it didn’t change so much. It looked lovely and we went sledding in Riverside Park. But otherwise, we stayed in, just as we have for the past upteen months. No theater tickets to set aside, no plans to check out an exhibit at the Met. Or to meet up with anyone. We can’t be inside with others, after all, and it is frigid outside.
There’s a sense of stasis. I’ve been writing and reading. I miss being out, though. I realize why I became a reporter: it forced me out, gave me license, even a requirement to do so. I know those days will come back. I just miss them. It’s been a long process of wintering.