In the middle of a storm
I find inspiration in terrible weather. Forget those days when it’s a little wet, or a little cold, or a little anything. Real weather; the kind that makes you stop at odd moments in your march, just to catch your breath and readjust the layers of clothing. I can’t speak for other climates, but here we have winter, and today we have real winter. A storm that is worth going out for groceries.
Of course, with enough snow accumulated, the shopping trip requires a leisurely walk across the way, using baby steps and an instinct for direction. North is everywhere, and the plough has yet to cut furrows in this neighbourhood. Son # 1 has developed a love for the traditional snowshoe, and his first remark on returning from somewhere else is that it is impossible to walk in a straight line when visibility has dropped to memory. I agree, although I know those snowshoes well; they never did track properly. Perhaps an adjustment in the harness, or some other neat trick only known to Netsook of the North (one of my favourite characters from my grade IV geography book).
As an aside, people in cars no longer obey traffic signs and signals when the snow gets heavy. Crossing at an intersection is best done in the manner of a wild animal avoiding roadkill season; hide in the woods until the lights have passed. I was dressed in dark clothing, but my fear factor stayed “pinned” from the time I left until the time I returned home with two very heavy bags (convenient anchors in high wind).
We almost had overnight company, but when they saw the bulletins on every weather channel they decided to make the best of a clear evening and move on before the storm arrived. A wise choice. Any plans of shopping for presents have been shelved until the end of the dump; it might be tonight, it might be tomorrow, it will require that all present learn how to hold a shovel. At least we have electricity, grapes and a new box of fudgesicles. Winter, do your worst!
