Gary

Once again this week, I'm participating in the Gypsy Mama's five minute Friday writing challenge this week, so this is a departure from what I usually post on here. It's been really good for me, though, and has helped remind me of how I used to write way back when I was 13 and the poetry seemed to pour out of me. (What happened to that me?)

In case you don't feel like clicking through that link (though, really, you should because Lisa-Jo's writing is completely mesmerizing), the gist is that I set a timer for five minutes and just free-wrote. I did NO editing or revamping after that time.

The suggested prompt this week is: "Think of the most unique person you encountered while you were out and about this week, and write them into life for us."

Start:

It's ridiculous, really, the amount of snow that's piled up out there. Storm after storm- blizzard, Nor' Easter, you name it- has dropped tons of the white stuff, plus ice, on our little corner of the world. The blinding whiteness forms massive humps and hills up by the roadside and, no matter how many times we dig our mailbox out, the plows just continue to form new heaps in front of it.

Gary doesn't seem to mind.

He whistles as he drives, two tires tipped up over that mini-mountain, and, when he still can't reach, he happily scales the slick mass on foot to ensure his delivery gets where it needs to be. I wave from the porch, making my way to meet the kids' bus, and he tips his hat.

Gary is not old.

But it is so sweetly old-fashioned, this way in which he always greets me. That hat-tip. His willingness to wait patiently at my door when he has a package. He knows it takes me a bit sometimes to juggle the kids around.

Down, down, down he slides from what would probably make an awesome snow fort. With a wave he is off... to repeat the process again and again for the neighbors.

A ray of sunshine on a snowy day.

Stop.