Under the kitchen spotlights I went through the usual morning motions of the regular cycle commuter: looking outside and judging the forecast then choosing the thicker winter bib tights, tightening up winter boots against frozen toes and positioning my snood just so over ears and face. Expecting a bit of ice, I left a few minutes early. Outside I ran a finger along the side of the car, it was wet and the dark sky was starless, so perhaps no ice after all.
Away from home and onto a more open road, a band of orange predawn light, rising in the eastern sky, terminated under the fuzzy edge of thick clouds spreading from the west. After a mile a light rain started. Two more miles and a slushy spot of sleet wetted my lips. By the time I got to the station the sleet had given way to snow.
I imagined the scene at home. My oldest grumbling out of bed, my youngest probably already dressed, then the sequels of delight, first from one and probably the youngest, then spreading virally to the other, when the first heavy snowflakes were spotted. A quick text gave me confirmation, and information, with my youngest hoping school would be cancelled. Wishful thinking for her I think, but perhaps there’s hope that the sleigh we brought them three years ago might finally get some use.