One thing I like about the snow is the footsteps I see as I walk to the train.

I live in a neighborhood where no one walks unless the doctor demands it of them. My house is a very doable, at least by my book, 15 minute walk to the train (13 if you’re really chugging), but no one does it. Mind you, most people around me don’t commute to the city, but those that do for the most part do not walk. (A pair of large hills figures into their decision as well.)

So as seemingly the lone walker in the neighborhood, I sometimes feel a bit self-conscious. As the giant SUVs roar by, I can read the drivers’ minds: Is he serving out a DWI? Did he never learn to drive? Is he on the prowl for young children?

But when it snows, I see the footsteps of those who’ve walked before me. I spied two pairs in the snow this morning (by the way, great snow for pedestrians–light, fluffy, pretty). When the footsteps hit Elwood, and one of the few sidewalks in the area, one set opted for the sidewalk and the several inches of snow on it, and the other for the paved street. I took the latter.

I’d left myself 21 minutes to get to the train, and only needed about 18. That artless pirhouette I did on the ice on the Sprain overpass notwithstanding (how the hell did I knot fall?), it was a really enjoyable walk.

Once again, Dolores L. had failed to deliver my newspapers, so I stopped into the Station Deli to grab a Times.

“What time do you think the 8:16 will pull in?” I asked the counter guy.

“It’s actually been pretty close to on time today,” he said, while another guy chirped in, “8:30!”.

Sure enough, the 8:16 rolled in at 8:16, and we were on our way, pulling into GCT right on time. Well done, Metro-North.

Another thing I like about snow days such as this is not only hearing the commuter survival stories at work, but seeing the outfits most coworkers seem to sport on such days. They’re what our mothers once called “play clothes” decades before–jeans, ginormous boots, flannels preferred by ’90s Seattle grungers and bicurious New England coeds.

It’s especially fun to see the sales guys leave the suit at home for the day and traipse about looking a bit out of sorts in their Toughskins and Timberlands.