Winter suddenly greeted New York City today with a sprinkle of snow and rapid bursts of frigid air. It woke me this morning in its typical, invasive manner: cracked and croaked the floors in my pre-war Brooklyn apartment, banged the TV cables against my building, and roared outside my bedroom window. It can never make a more subdued entrance.
When did Old Man Winter get here?
Before I walked Jack (my dog, stalker and sometime-advisor), I layered up and covered up. Jeans, tights, knee socks and ankle socks; a cami and a turtleneck, not to mention the basic winter armor – hat, gloves, scarf and the knee-length coat. Still, I felt winter make its way through the usual crevices: the gaps between my coat’s buttons, the thinning sole of my worn boots, and that space on my wrists that no glove can ever seem to reach.
The neighborhood didn’t fare any better. Water froze in patches along most of Franklin Street. Trees gripped the concrete as the wind tried to pull them out. My neighbors, cocooned in their winter wardrobe, somehow managed to walk through the wind without losing their balance and barely looked up as they passed – their eyes fixed on the floor and away from the gusts.
Apparently, the cold weather isn’t so sudden. According to the Gothamist, the median date for when it hits the freezing mark in Central Park is about November 18th. And after all, it’s already December, the tree is up at Rock Center, people are skating at Wollman Rink, and folks are already talking “Oscars.” Still, I didn’t expect this kind of cold until January, and I didn’t expect the snow. Light snow, the fast and fickle kind, but snow nonetheless.
My building sways every now and again, yet another sign that Winter is upon us. Welcome Old Man – here’s hoping you’ll be fashionably late(r) next year.