Rosebud...

There is a lively snowglobe that appears outside the picture window, early in the morning. Not every day, but only when the old snow gets so decayed that Mo Nature can no longer bear to look at it.
Like part two of an unresolved dream, I wake up and go to the window. All the pocks and gravel that mar the landscape are lost in a softer view of yesterday's neighborhood.
I can relax now. Expectatons are lowered and no one will blink if I don't venture out for a day or two. School is cancelled and workers hibernate at their desks. I am alone with my thoughts. Snowflakes float down by the thousands, millions, billions, trillions, and so on.
Now I wonder about the roads. I will drive in this, soon I hope. Maybe in Missouri, possibly Louisiana, all the way to California. Once I leave here, I let go of my bed and the comfortable sound of the furnace kicking in.
The toaster and the coffeemaker and running water will go to the end of the list.
I picture my car in a blanket of snow. I'll wake up in the back seat and look outside through the rear window. I'm in the snowglobe with all my things. I've spent a lot of time arranging them neatly in bags. I hope no one picks up the car and shakes it.