It snowed. Not the cute kind. Not the “ooh pretty” Instagram kind. The aggressive, nonstop, Ohio special that starts early, doesn’t apologize, and isn’t supposed to quit until tonight. Basically winter kicking the door in and announcing it’ll leave when it feels like it.

The dogs lost their minds immediately. Snow flips some ancient switch in their brains and suddenly they’re feral woodland creatures. Full sprint. Face plants. Snow beards. Zero self-preservation. Meanwhile I’m standing there thinking about my lower back and every bad decision that led me to still living somewhere this happens on purpose.

Everything slows down when it snows like this. Streets vanish. Cars turn into suggestions. Neighbors stand outside staring at the sky like they’re trying to reason with it. Spoiler: you can’t. Winter doesn’t negotiate. It just keeps dumping until you give up and accept that tomorrow is going to hurt.

Online, people are already romanticizing it. “I love snow!” Sure you do. Right up until you’re shoveling wet concrete at 7 a.m. while questioning your life choices. If you need official confirmation that this mess is real, check weather.gov or doom-scroll the panic updates on Twitter.

By tonight it’ll finally stop. Not because it’s merciful, but because it’s bored. The snow will sit there quietly, smug as hell, waiting for you to deal with it. The dogs will still be thrilled. I’ll still be annoyed. And Ohio will keep pretending this is normal.

Eric Foltin

Ordained Pastafarian minister. Spy vs. Spy fiend. Tech-tinkering, people-dodging geocacher with punk roots and hard-earned dev chops. Runs Mad Cow Social Labs.

I make my own writing prompts because WordPress and Jetpack keep recycling the same tired questions. I pull mine from real life, irritation, and whatever won’t shut up in my head. If it’s boring, it’s dead. The results end up here:

ericfoltin.com