Under a Lamp Lit Snowglobe

The night air was crisp, you could taste the frigid quality the air held. Sunset and twilight had come and gone; the scene itself was rather comforting, at least it could be described as such from the inside of a warm home. Snow spread across the pavement, untouched by cares, contained a single trail of foot prints, even and deliberate, on the right side. Tall and loaming evergreen trees stretched towards the sky, each of their branches holding its share of snow. When the eyes traveled further up the road, a lone street lamp tried to join the tops of the evergreen trees by the sky, though it could not measure up to those great heights, it still had a very important part to play. The orange light cast downward, and undefined edges, in a triangular glow.

Withing that glow, the trail stops and ends in a man, dressed in a fitted black suit, which was beginning to collect the white crystals, but he didn’t seem to mind, his attention was elsewhere. He stood tall as well, but was not as tall as the street light, who was not as tall as the evergreens. His efforts were not focused on being taller, reaching towards the sky, his mind more level, but abstract and distant, not one direction. Shiny black shoes had collected little piles of snow on the toe and around the lip that circled each shoe. The pants were pressed neatly, cuffs untouched by the snow, but like the jacket, they had begun to collect the flakes of the current gentle snow drift. A deep brilliant blue tie caught the light in such a way that it seemed to illuminate, the background seeming to fade except for the one oblong shape. His white dress shirt peaked through from under the black scarf that nestled itself around his neck, most was hidden.

Puffs of moisture exited the part of his lips with each exhale, eyes glinting as they gazed down the road, almost longingly. A nineteen twenties letter-boy hat fit snuggly onto his head, his dark curls poking out the sides, just above his ears.

He seemed to be waiting for something, or… for someone.

Maybe he knows what he’s looking for, what he’s waiting for, but maybe, just maybe, he didn’t know and he was taking a chance.

Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.

The snow seemed to swirl all ’round him, the wind gentle, pushing the drift one way, switching to the other, back and forth. Catching itself below the lamp lit air. It was like he was caught in a snow globe of life and his own imagination inside.