Because we had been riding for nine hours, Lucky and I bolted from the car and went, pronto, for a walk. Because we had driven from a place that was sunny and mild with dry roads, I was wearing a light jacket and sneakers.
While we were away, two feet of heavy wet spring snow had fallen. The power had been knocked out; the whole town was in darkness. Except that a three-quarter moon shone down from the cold clear sky and the snow-whomped earth shone back, the way it must have in days of old, before we got electrified. The snow-laden branches formed lumpy, dimly sparkling walls of white. It was pretty magical.
I shivered in my thin jacket. My sneakers got soaked and my toes got cold. Which made me think (while my thoughts were in those olden days) of Valley Forge. All those men in too-thin coats and inadequate footwear. For just a moment I thought I could imagine, if I multiplied the thinness of my jacket, the coldness and wetness of my feet, and the duration of my walk by a billion or so, what that was like.