Filled with anticipation
Just for the record: I am a Canadian. That means that in the month of January, the need to sit and wait for the snow to start falling is rational. Particularly when the forecast is that there will be a gazillion of them, or at least enough to cover the neighbourhood with up to twenty-five centimeters worth, measured vertically. Followed, or in concert with, winds gusting to seventy kph. No, I’m not going to translate. If my hopes (wishes and dreams) are met, tomorrow will be a white world, and my employer will encourage me to stay inside in safety. Storm warning; almost as good as the real thing.
Check the monologue from Environment Canada. “Moreover, the strong winds combined with the snow will reduce the visibilities to nearly zero over some regions.” The phrase rings with promise. Or, “Precipitation is expected to fall mainly as snow with a mix of snow, ice pellets and freezing rain possible.” A tone poem, is it not?
Of course, this is akin to the dream sold with every lottery ticket. No guarantee. I’ll be up, early, checking the state of my front walk, keeping a watch on school board websites, listening to the radio (something I avoid, most mornings). If the telephone rings (with a confirmation of my winning ticket), I’ll notify friends and co-workers. Spreading the joy, what!
Only hours to go (about ten). Will I be able to sleep?
I guess it’s part of my national identity. People with hurricanes probably do something similar. After all, when you can’t beat Mother Nature, you might as well try to follow in the dance.
