Waiting for what? Coffee that drips slowly? Butter to soften on the counter for toast? The cats chase each other. Back and forth down the hallway at top speed. One jumps the other like a New York mugging. He cries then escapes. Meanwhile coffee continues to drip slowly. Butter softens on the counter.
Looking outside it is pitch black. No reflection of light on snow. There are no stars. The sounds of plows in the distance. I only hear the sounds of salt trucks and semis going down 41. Someone will jackknife. Bet your last dollar.
And, there is no sound of wind. It has died down. Leaving mounds of drifted snow behind. A man begins to shovel his driveway. Making blocks of heavy packed snow and ice then tossing them to the side. He uses salt for footing.
The coffee is ready. Butter has softened. The sun rises in the East. It is just another morning in February.