A dusting of snow

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We are due to get more than a dusting tomorrow and the weather people are ecstatic! They have their storm parkas and mobile weather vehicle ready to press into action. Reporters are posted at the hardware and grocery stores, the coast, the emergency management bunker and along the roads. Footage of “The Blizzard of ’78” is being run, the words intoned in an italicized, somber voice that conveys the importance of the event.  There is a frisson of energy in the air that always comes with a pending storm. By Saturday morning, this scene will be blanketed in up to 2 feet of snow. I will not get to see it in pristine condition as I will be shovelling out my own blanketed domicile. But I can imagine how it will look. There will be the hush over the city that always comes with a big storm, followed by the sounds of snow removal and children enjoying the fresh snow. In the countryside it will be similar, though the noises will be spread over more open space, the wind blowing drifts across fields and roads. I have no place I have to be once everyone gets home we will be content to watch the snow from inside and speak of other storms we remember. We all have memorable storms from our childhoods: the time it snowed on Christmas Eve and only Santa no relatives could get through, the time it snowed in mid April, the spring thaw that came so fast the sound of the ice on the Mohawk could be heard miles away. Our lives are embroidered with the stories of weather, even events we didn’t experience become part of our story. Weather still is beyond our control, and has occurred for long before man walked the earth, before even dinosaurs did. That is what attracts us to it I think, the grandeur and power that isn’t at our command, from a sunshower to a blizzard, it amazes us every time. Now we just have more warning of what might be coming, and can prepare as best we can. Which is great, as I would hate to not know this was coming and be caught unawares as people were in the past.

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