On Shore Street in Falmouth, the world has narrowed to white—over two feet of snow since last night and still falling, a relentless cyclone nor’easter reshaping this fragile stretch of Cape Cod into something both perilous and breathtaking. In the blur of wind and ice, two figures move down the center of the buried road, small against bowed trees and sagging wires, carrying what look like red bags—or maybe gas containers—I can’t quite tell, only that whatever they hold feels necessary.
The wires dip low between the poles, burdened by ice and snow, and I cannot help but wonder if they are the quiet culprit behind my power and internet outage, their weighted lines surrendering somewhere in the night. It is the quintessential Northeast winter storm image: human silhouettes pressing forward through a whiteout, errand and endurance braided together. I still don't have any electricity, but the gas stove still works, blankets are layered thick, and from my window I watch how the storm swallows sound and distance, and how it tests us and binds us at once.
Due to frigid temperatures, I had to leave my home the next day(Tuesday morning). Fortunately, I was able to book a lovely hotel room until Thursday morning, so I was safe, warm, and grateful, especially since most hotel rooms were booked.