6:45 PM, Friday, 5 February 2010 --- Deadline: Snowmageddon.
As I write this, the snow has only fallen in a hint of the White Terror that has been predicted. A hint of upwards of 20, 24 maybe even 30 inches of snow. I am not pleased.
The snow is pretty, and right now it is only fine flakes, drifting gently down to coat the trees and the sidewalk, a fine coating of the 'powdered sugar of the Universe'. Peering from my windows, it is quite lovely, gossamer halos spinning out around the outside lights. The wind isn't high, not yet, so one can almost believe it will leave as quietly as it came. I am even contemplating taking some pictures, experimenting with exposures and tints to try and capture the ethereal 'otherness' that is snowfall. I am almost succeeding at being okay with it all.
Alas, I am not.
I admit, I am a Snow Weenie. This year, anyway. I've lost my stamina and my youthful enthusiasm for a good snow, an inevitable consequence of Growing Up and Being Responsible. This loss does not account for the sheer weight of my ennui, as I would pretend it would. No...the combined stresses and fatigues of this last, tumultuous year of mine have caught up to me. They had been contained behind a thin fence of willpower and concentration on walking the "sunny side of the street". No longer.
The winds this storm upon us now has brought, blow not only around the building in which I reside; they howl across the sere plain that is my interior to lash with full force on that fence I had built. It vibrates and cracks, the slats and posts bending in the onslaught. The sharp twang of broken mesh makes an odd sound of tortured banjos and I watch the fence curl up and blow away. The stresses that had been penned up burst forth, free to roam. They gambol and buck, snorting in my face with whinnies of glee that sound too much like demons to me.
Demons that enjoy the cold, and laugh as they drain the life force from my shivering carcass. The snow...it is kicking my mental ass. Under ordinary circumstances I could laugh and shake it off. Tonight, I am not so sure. I breathe deep, I try...
...I watch Spongebob Squarepants with my daughter, and I focus on her laughter. We make silly faces at each other, and read the dictionary looking for pictures of animals. She snuggels up to me on the couch and tells me she is a puppy...
...and I can begin to let go of the inner grouch, knowing that I truly cannot control the weather. I cannot make it stop snowing, and it is fruitless to waste energy and time on such pursuits. The snow will be what it is, will fall where it may, and this is inescapable. It is also true that I am warm, I am well-fed, and even through the fog of malaise I know that I am loved. It is this realization that becomes the lantern in the window, guiding me home through the snow and mist.
I am still tired. I still curse the bloody weather. Still, I know I can fix that fence. Her laugh tells me so.