It was 9:30 on a Sunday morning. The sun was shining and the snow had just fallen over the Quinnipiac grounds. There were no sounds except some birds singing and some scraping noises from the small plowmobiles cleaning off the walkways. No students were yet to be seen, and no classes yet to worry about.
A little more than three inches of snow had fallen that night and the ground was covered with a nice, thick layer that silenced every footstep into a soft “thump.” Cars were completely covered with snow in the parking lots, and under the bridge on the way to the Commons some water was quietly dripping by in the little brook.
I had no business at Quinnipiac at all, really. I just couldn’t sleep. I had been awakened early that same morning by trucks plowing off the driveway outside my house, and as the sun shone in through my window I had not seen any reason for staying in bed. The sun was sipping through the tall stems of the pine trees behind the Student Center and I realized that the warm ski clothes I had put on were actually almost too warm. It wasn’t too cold out. The wind was absolutely still, and I realized that it was actually a perfect day. Perfect for doing nothing at all, like all days of winter vacation should be.