Waiting

Waiting for the snow to start falling.
Waiting is the event drawn in chalk on the driveway before it happens. Waiting is two crows rowing across the gray cold sky. No, too poetic. Delete the crows. Waiting is waiting for any bird in silhouette to fly across the cold gray sky.
We've been waiting all day, talking forecasts (from three inches to thirteen), shopping or not, thinking pre-wearily of shoveling out. Now it's night. So I'll go to bed and wake up to pee at three and be unable to resist going to the window and watching the windblown snow-flies swarming in the cone of light from the streetlamp near the house. One to two inches per hour means a nor'easter with conviction. And then I'll wake up again in the white-lit morning and watch it come down.
So what's in the waiting window tonight? The streetlamp. Like candle number six yesterday, it stands vigil, but not for itself. More like the dude who signals to the surprise party, shhh! he's coming!