My sense of snow

At first, it's like the soft tickling sensation that occurs somewhere between dawn and
the moment where I open my eyes from the waking dream thinking that I need to
remember this but soon forgetting where I put my pen and paper to record these
fleeting dreams. I wake to the crystals in my eyes and the hard reflection of sunlight
bullying its way into the room where I sleep now. I raise my arm, then wince from my
sense that the cold is still in the warmth of the bed where I have rested alone save for the
visions that share that space with my cat who looks at me and yawns his contempt of me
for forcing him from his comfortable spot in the crook of my armpit.
I want to blink away the white expanse in order to see the green fields of spring, to know
that I will escape the confines of my mother's house, to go where I want, even if it is only
to the prison of my job or the dull density of shopping for food I don't really want or even
like as with all things like vitamins and exercise- the things I must do when all I really want
is to stand in the shower for another hour, letting the drops of water steam away all sensation
but the sense of wet warmth running across the expanse of my skin until I must face another
day and then I remember that it has snowed in the night and that after all that effort I have no
where to really go, no escape but into the words and the virtual space in which I hope to fill it
with.