#8

His shovel scrapes against the frozen concrete on the driveway. He makes a zigzag pattern in the snow, moving the accumulation to the edge and then scooping and tossing it into a mound. No one else is out shoveling and with good reason—it is still snowing. And just as soon as he clears a section, the sky fills it right back up. He doesn’t mind, though. It makes him think of when he would place a cloud on the window by blowing his hot breath on the pane. The cloud was there and then the cloud was gone. The concrete is here and then the concrete was gone. Despite the bitter cold He revels in his zen-like action. Scraping, scooping, tossing. Scraping, scooping, tossing. He is so enthralled he almost misses the pair of headlights coming slowly up the street. He sees and he freezes. Another person will spoil his contentment. Another person will question why he is undertaking this Sisyphean task in 20 degree weather. Another person will think him stupid. And indeed, this other person, this neighbor, slows their vehicle to a crawl and peers out their driver side window at the strange man shoveling snow as it snows. The neighbor’s questioning look makes the man angry. He throws his shovel to the ground and thrusts two middle fingers in the air. “Up yours!” He screams at the vehicle. He is wearing mittens, though, and his message is lost to the blistering wintry wind.