We’d gotten a good three inches of snow overnight. Four? Not sure. Either way, the thing in the main was I’d gotten a late start on shoveling. I’d slept terribly last night, and still had my head submerged in a large mug of coffee when She began lacing her boots. By the time I trudged outside some thirty minutes later, She and one of our upstairs neighbors had already cleared the sidewalks. They’d started shoveling out the little driveway behind our building, so I set to alongside them.
I was delighted to learn that it was light work. Literally. Last night we’d watched big fluffy snowflakes trace easy, unhurried paths through the air, and the overnight temperature never got cold enough for anything to ice over. And when you’re responsible for clearing not one but two city sidewalks — living on a street corner! never again, I swear — you’ll take the wintertime wins where you can.
I was finishing up the shoveling when I saw an older woman was talking to me, a wide smile on her face, a lovely black dog sitting next to her.
I’d been listening to an audiobook, so I popped out one of my headphones. “Sorry, could you say that again?”
“Doesn’t look like it was too much of a workout,” she said.
“Oh! No, I’m so glad it didn’t freeze over. This stuff’s pretty fluffy, and easy to clear.” I gestured at her dog, now stretched out lazily next to her. “How is it walking around?”
How was it walking around? I assumed that question would be the beginning of the end of it: she’d tell me it wasn’t too bad, I’d say that’s great to hear, and she and her dog would continue down the street. A quick little one-two patter between neighbors who’ve never met, and wouldn’t ever see each other again.
Instead, the woman introduced me to her gorgeous collie, and how the poor thing had a number of mobility issues. Some joint and ligament issues had led to a series of surgeries, and while the pup had healed well, it made walking a bit of a challenge. “But she’s doing so great today,” she said. “We did hydrotherapy, and I think that made such a difference.”
And then more stories came. I learned she’s been in our town since the eighties — first as a renter, then when she and her husband moved into the house she still lives in. We chatted about how much change she’s seen in our little city; I shared how much change I’ve seen in the decade we’ve been here. I learned her sweet old collie had a brother, who passed away a year ago. I learned she lost her husband a few years back. Her children had moved out ages ago; it was just her and her dog.
Then she said, “I’ve got friends in Minneapolis.”
I paused. “I do, too. A few.”
For the first time, we fell silent. Just for a moment. I thought about my friends in their city; I thought about what the warmer months will bring to mine. I thought about the observer training I did last week.
And then she said, “One of my friends is worried about leaving the house right now. But their neighbors have offered to shop for them.”
“I’m glad,” I said. “I’m so happy to hear that, right now.”
“Yes,” she said. “I was, too.”
Toward the end of our chat, she told me her name; she asked me for mine, and I gave it. I wished her well as we waved goodbye, and her dog got to its feet. They walked down the street, letting the collie set the pace; I went inside to get some salt for our sidewalks. The trees all along our street were blanketed in snow, as though their branches were long, tentative fingers clutching delicate clouds, holding them aloft for us all to see.
A note of thanks to Fatimah Asghar — both for the poem I stumbled across today, and for the line borrowed from it for this post’s title.
This has been “I find them on the street & shadow.” a post from Ethan’s journal.