mountaintopby Woman On A Mountaintop

It’s snowing again.

Somehow, I don’t mind the snow. Don’t much like driving in it. But I do like how quiet it is, and quiet goes a long way with me as a good thing.

Woke up this morning and decided that even with the snow, I wanted to come to the Chamber of Commerce lunch, partly because I figured it was a good way to network, and partly because the Commissioner of the Department of Tourism & Marketing was speaking. I have a business idea that’s kind of in that department.

It was worth the drive. I got a lot out of the talk, and I met a woman who might want me to write the website content for her Bed and Breakfast.

So I walked out into the snow afterwards and sat in my car, wondering what to do next. I knew I wanted to write to you, and I have to respond to my email suitors for today. I didn’t know if I wanted to drive the 15 miles back home to work on those things, or just stay in town.

I sat in my car, which I’d parked under a bridge, and suddenly I thought, “Joe’s here.”

Anyway, I started the car, drove up the ramp, did the round-about to get pointed in the right direction on the bridge, and as I crossed, I looked up and there was Joe, standing in the snow.

He was wearing an adorable kind of dorky wool hat, his hair sticking out from under it like straw. And he was wearing brown boots with these cinnamon brown pants tucked into them, (pants that I remember seeing tossed on my bedroom floor long ago) so that he sort of looked like a Pilgrim, although the hat, which was more Mike Nesmith than Miles Standish.

No coat. Real Northerners don’t wear coats. Flannel shirt, though. Of course.

But there he was, at the other end of the bridge that I’d been sitting under when I sensed him near.

And my heart did this tug in my chest like it was trying to get out of my body. I wanted to pull the car over and run through the snow and say, “BE with me, you big dork! Be with me.”

I wanted to throw my arms around his waist and press up against him to inhale the lovely deep smell of fabric softener and aftershave and whatever the thing is that is JOE.

It’s a wonder I didn’t accidentally drive off the bridge.

Instead, heart pounding and adrenlin racing, I headed to the nearest cybercafe where I now sit, staring out into the snow in between typing sentences.

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