The Old Man
Around 2011 we were in a bad place financially and, in desperation, I took a job working at a shipyard. It was a pretty brutal environment especially for a man my age. One day it snowed and we were let go early. When I got home I took my daughter’s golden retriever out for a walk, and wrote this story. I hope you enjoy it.
The old man, as he was pulled along by the golden retriever, mused to himself, “The magic of snow is something best understood by puppies, small children, and young lovers unseasoned by grief or tragedy.” His face was wreathed by hat and scarf but still the wind cut him, cold and clean. He reminisced about working on ships, and thought about the difference between heat and cold. He’d worked in the heat in rooms that were 107 degrees, where a fan only acted like a convection oven, and in the freezing cold, in hanger bays where, when you used the outside urinals, troughs set in tin shacks with eight inch clearances at the top and bottoms that allowed the wind to whip through like a mule driver’s lash, you’d wonder if piss could freeze. The difference, he surmised, was that heat soaked you, it crept upon you like a python and crushed you in its grasp, whereas cold cut you like a stiletto, deep, cold, and clean; it took time for it to hurt but, once the hurting started it didn’t stop until long after you warmed up.
The dog didn’t muse; it simply ran, filled with joy and wonder at the powder that fell from the sky. Whoever could have conceived of something as wonderful as snow? The dog was experiencing a mystery that the man had almost forgotten. To walk in freshly falling snow, to look behind you and see your tracks disappearing, was as spiritual an experience as sitting in a cathedral, waiting to hear the small voice of God. But that was an understanding that was changed and altered by one’s life. For puppies, small children, and young lovers it was one of expectation and hope. For those who had tasted despair and bitterness, it was tainted with gall – they waited not to hear from God, but for a chance to complain.
He decided the snow was too cold and they headed back to the home where the hearth was ablaze with fresh wood. The dog would have stayed, at least a bit longer. They trudged back, leaving footprints that were quietly and quickly filled. It was as if they had never taken the walk, the walk in the falling snow at night.
