When I was a child I lived in the great plains -- the land of ice and snow. I lived a long way from school, but like the mail man's motto, weather was no reason to not walk to school.
One day at about age 10, on the way home from school, I walked through a part of town called “The Old People's Homes” which was replete with big elegant brick mansions, seemingly closed off from the rest of the world. The area was like a campus, with fine walkways and statues but where rarely anyone walked -- except me as a shortcut to my house.
It was a bitter cold day, and there were snowdrifts all around me as I trudged home. But I was so cold that I was almost freezing to death. So, I remembered what my dad told me to do if I got too cold, “Just find a deep snowdrift and plop down into it.” And that's what I did.
I was laying there deeply embedded in a drift thinking about how effective that turned out to be. Even though the snow was surrounding me, I felt much less cold than standing up in the cold wind. I was actually very comfortable. I was so deep in the snowdrift that I could only see snow and my parka fur to the side and some barren tree limbs up above me. The snow was still coming down and the flakes seemed to rush at me like little arrows from the gray sky.
I must have been there for maybe five minutes when suddenly I heard a commotion all around me. I was just about to try to get up from the snowdrift to see what was going on when I was completely surrounded by old people looking down at me and poking me with their canes. I was so shocked at first that I couldn't say anything. But I heard them talking, “Is he alive? Did he just move? Boy, get up!”
I struggled around to my elbows and got up from the snowdrift. “I'm OK,” I said, “I'm OK.” I brushed off the snow that stuck to my legs and arms.
Then the police came. Someone had called the police. Some old lady saw me collapse into the snowdrift and thought I'd just passed out or something. There I was, completely surrounded by old people and police, with them asking me if I was sick or hurt somehow. After the police finished asking me my name and why I was there, they finally left me alone.
Then I just ran away toward my house, nearly frightened to death from the experience, never to pass that way again.
One day at about age 10, on the way home from school, I walked through a part of town called “The Old People's Homes” which was replete with big elegant brick mansions, seemingly closed off from the rest of the world. The area was like a campus, with fine walkways and statues but where rarely anyone walked -- except me as a shortcut to my house.
It was a bitter cold day, and there were snowdrifts all around me as I trudged home. But I was so cold that I was almost freezing to death. So, I remembered what my dad told me to do if I got too cold, “Just find a deep snowdrift and plop down into it.” And that's what I did.
I was laying there deeply embedded in a drift thinking about how effective that turned out to be. Even though the snow was surrounding me, I felt much less cold than standing up in the cold wind. I was actually very comfortable. I was so deep in the snowdrift that I could only see snow and my parka fur to the side and some barren tree limbs up above me. The snow was still coming down and the flakes seemed to rush at me like little arrows from the gray sky.
I must have been there for maybe five minutes when suddenly I heard a commotion all around me. I was just about to try to get up from the snowdrift to see what was going on when I was completely surrounded by old people looking down at me and poking me with their canes. I was so shocked at first that I couldn't say anything. But I heard them talking, “Is he alive? Did he just move? Boy, get up!”
I struggled around to my elbows and got up from the snowdrift. “I'm OK,” I said, “I'm OK.” I brushed off the snow that stuck to my legs and arms.
Then the police came. Someone had called the police. Some old lady saw me collapse into the snowdrift and thought I'd just passed out or something. There I was, completely surrounded by old people and police, with them asking me if I was sick or hurt somehow. After the police finished asking me my name and why I was there, they finally left me alone.
Then I just ran away toward my house, nearly frightened to death from the experience, never to pass that way again.
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