There is an evil witch haunting me. I let her hang around last year--the infamous Weather Witch. She was my friend, actually, and we cheered on every single opportunity for snow. I gave her up when I moved to the country. See, I thought I ought to be more respectful of the weather. I didn't know that behind the cute fur-trimmed parka lay a loathsome beast which knew my name.
So, the spring was an odd one. Super hot one day, cool the next, and wet after that. And sometimes, it was even all in one day. The summer was even weirder--cool enough that plants grew slowly, wet enough that what grew redefined the term, and cloudy enough that the sun didn't help ripen much.
At least, that was the case in my garden. Apparently, everyone else had nice tomatoes, and healthy corn, and a great crop of pumpkins. Oh well, right?
And then the fall...where we alternated between cracked earth and thick gloppy mud. And days of incredible heat. And then the several days of snow.
The Weather Witch's tentacles are emerging. She's preparing to trap me on the farm. I just know it. The last two weekends are just a taste of what she has in store for me. Cars trapped in the ice, an inaccessible driveway, sheets of ice sliding off the roof. Snow, then ice, then freezing temps, then a bit of sun to make a nice soupy mix, and then freezing temps again. I go out to clear this or that, or dig out a tunnel... and I hear her breaking ice in the woods. Maybe I just missed seeing the squirrel or a deer, but the slithering sound is NOT ice melting down the branches. The footprints are suspicious...
And then I make it into town, and the roads are clear, and what snow I see clings desperately to a few shady lawns. I breathe a sigh of relief. No scary winged creatures sitting in the trees, calling to me. No ice tunnels under the path I walk, waiting to drag me to the underworld. No odd drafts where there should be nothing, or loud skittering behind the walls. (How could those be mice?--there are two cats and a dog!)
She's here, and she's coming for me. She wants me to go all R-E-D-R-U-M. The rage cannot be expended on battling ice, or cleaning. She keeps tempting me to explore new buildings, looking for sleds or shovels or towing cables... and then I come upon the scythe, or heavy duty chains, and even the hand saws.
Right now, I hear the incessant dripping of ice on the roof. Drip, drip drip, drip, drip, drip drip. The clicking of the heating system. Click, click click, click click. The never ending honking of the geese. I hate them.
Must get out. Must go hike through the woods to find my car. Must get out.
She's coming for me. But first I better go into the shed to look for a bigger shovel.
[satire. look it up.]
So, the spring was an odd one. Super hot one day, cool the next, and wet after that. And sometimes, it was even all in one day. The summer was even weirder--cool enough that plants grew slowly, wet enough that what grew redefined the term, and cloudy enough that the sun didn't help ripen much.
At least, that was the case in my garden. Apparently, everyone else had nice tomatoes, and healthy corn, and a great crop of pumpkins. Oh well, right?
And then the fall...where we alternated between cracked earth and thick gloppy mud. And days of incredible heat. And then the several days of snow.
The Weather Witch's tentacles are emerging. She's preparing to trap me on the farm. I just know it. The last two weekends are just a taste of what she has in store for me. Cars trapped in the ice, an inaccessible driveway, sheets of ice sliding off the roof. Snow, then ice, then freezing temps, then a bit of sun to make a nice soupy mix, and then freezing temps again. I go out to clear this or that, or dig out a tunnel... and I hear her breaking ice in the woods. Maybe I just missed seeing the squirrel or a deer, but the slithering sound is NOT ice melting down the branches. The footprints are suspicious...
 |
| Those are cloven hooves! Not deer! |
And then I make it into town, and the roads are clear, and what snow I see clings desperately to a few shady lawns. I breathe a sigh of relief. No scary winged creatures sitting in the trees, calling to me. No ice tunnels under the path I walk, waiting to drag me to the underworld. No odd drafts where there should be nothing, or loud skittering behind the walls. (How could those be mice?--there are two cats and a dog!)
She's here, and she's coming for me. She wants me to go all R-E-D-R-U-M. The rage cannot be expended on battling ice, or cleaning. She keeps tempting me to explore new buildings, looking for sleds or shovels or towing cables... and then I come upon the scythe, or heavy duty chains, and even the hand saws.
Right now, I hear the incessant dripping of ice on the roof. Drip, drip drip, drip, drip, drip drip. The clicking of the heating system. Click, click click, click click. The never ending honking of the geese. I hate them.
Must get out. Must go hike through the woods to find my car. Must get out.
She's coming for me. But first I better go into the shed to look for a bigger shovel.
[satire. look it up.]
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