It started snowing before I left the office. Instead of individual flakes big clumps of snow were falling and waves of snow blew across the street like sand on the beach. That always means sooner or later the roads will be covered. I walked to the bus stop at the top of the hill where I can see half a mile or more down the street—at least when the weather is clear. There was no sign of the big green and red LED route number and name in the distance so I started walking. Snow was already piling up on the streets, and the sidewalk. I thought by walking toward town, toward the bus depot, I’d get closer to the bus and that way get out of the snow sooner. I reached the bottom of the hill and walked more blocks until I got to the overpass. Sometimes—at least when the weather is clear—I’ll cross the overpass, although it makes me nervous to have cars zipping by on my right and only a short concrete wall between me and a twenty-foot drop on my left. Since bridges and overpasses freeze sooner than roads I stopped, turned, and went back to the nearest bus stop. Still no sign of the bus so I then walked to the next bus stop, away from the depot now, but at least moving was a way to keep me warm. Cars were crawling by and I knew I’d be able to flag down the bus when it came.
Then my phone rang. It was my wife. “I think you’d better ride home with me.”
I started trudging toward her office. We’d walk to her parking garage and ride home together.
The bus never did come.