Winter in the mountains is not for wimps. It is for those, accustomed to indoor intellectual pursuit, who know how to weather a storm. Those with sense accumulate a magazine of loaded books and other low-tech learning materials. One might even say, they burrow in, content to hibernate inside, while the swirls of snow blow fiercely upon the face of the earth. And that would be just what we all normally prepare to do as winter’s icy fingers grasp the edges of our calendars…until this year.
For in the midst of solar flares from the sun, and global hot air inside various parliaments and congresses, winter failed to meet us…she ditched us for another date. Yes, she exhibited some signs of love, spitting flakes here and there, but nothing any wimp could not handle. You could say, she abandoned “tough love.” That was, until Friday night.
In the tradition of Friday Night Football, blood and guts rugby, and hurling matches, our Friday night fun turned into a nightmare. And as this mare came riding into our warm and nestled wonderland, she brought a pummeling gust…and the power to render all outside helpless in the face of the new fury. She brought closed doors, parking lots littered with forlorn vehicles, and parkas long hid from the neighbors.
So, it is good to know that winter has not abandoned us. Blossoms and buds have not appeared. And we can rest knowing that the natural cycle is back…for now. I say that because as I look out the window, the sun is shining. It is several degrees below freezing, and the wind continues it’s mournful call, but a sign is shining, suggesting our winter may be soon leaving us again awhile.