wait for the world to right itself

There are times when it seems like the weather wants to take the world back from us.  This past summer, there was a terrible storm out near my home that sent an air conditioner window unit crashing back into my room from the window it was mounted in, and through the vacated hole in the window the storm raged in.  I remember because I was downstairs when it happened, and the sudden change in air pressure slammed the door shut, a huge resounding crash, and I had to push against it with all of my weight to get it open, and even then it was hard.  The wind howled, funneled into that small space, like a miniature domestic wind tunnel, and it was all I could do to cut off that wind, as the rain blew in from a ominous sky the color of mint.

As I write this, it’s snowing.  It’s been snowing all day.  It’s the kind of snow that makes mockery of shovels and snowblowers because twenty minutes after you finish removing the stuff it’s back.  The crests of the drifts meander in lazy curls, obscuring sidewalks and negating stairways.  And it’s a cold snow.  The wind is fierce and bitter on the prairie, and it cuts through any layers you bundle on against it.  It’s cuts, and it burns the lungs when you breath it.  It’s the kind of night that I’m just content to stay inside and wait for the tantrum to stop, to wait for the world to right itself again.