Finding omens in a good blizzard |

Finding omens in a good blizzard

The blizzard at night is full of silent devils wandering lost in the dark, invading lights and the front porch glow. Angels among them guide their way. It is a surreal silence.

Drifts of snow, delicately and magically formed, smile a coyote’s smile, tempting our eyes out into the darkness. Theirs is a white deception.

I question my love of blizzards. I call friends to see if they made it home safely to San Francisco. I tell them of the snow dangling from deck railings and branches without ever falling, lengthy spirals, rings and arcs, crescents and curls and shapes of snow that defy description, impossible to make, even for nature, yet, there they are. I see them with my own eyes.

The glass door is splattered with distorted figures made of trapped snow. I hear a desperate moan under the floor. Then a cry. Phantoms lured by the comfort of home, terrified, knowing their fate is inescapable. They try and force their way in but comfort is forbidden them. They let loose a mighty howl that shatters the night and flee in a torrent of dark and ominous shapes, fragments of past lives and tormented souls being shredded by the wind across the frigid landscape.

I watch them run from nothing into nothing. Their speed is explosive, their numbers are infinite, and they are gone.

The silence of the blizzard returns. I wonder. Will the wind scream like that again?

My friends made it home safely, albeit a day late, through clogged roundabouts, summit whiteouts and long lines of 15 mph traffic from Truckee to wherever the blizzard turned to a deluge of rain. I think they said it was around Auburn but, God love ’em, they have four kids. They are prone to confusion.

Who cares where the snow ended anyway? It sure didn’t end here. Winter’s late arrival was witnessed by throngs of families up for George and Abe’s birthdays and Ski/Skate Week. I guess somewhere in there all U.S. presidents were supposed to be celebrated, but I quit trying to keep up with the changes in American holidays a long time ago.

Next we have an unusually early daylight savings time to remember and I only care enough about that to at least make some feeble attempt to keep my ears open around about the time its supposed to happen in the hope I will get around to setting my clock accordingly.

But who cares? What’s an hour here or there? I suppose it all has to do with the productivity of farmers or their daughters or some politicians fear of light or darkness, I don’t know. All I know is some people apparently got together and decided it was a good idea.

Frankly, I think their idea of a good idea is whatever random little thought flies through their vain brain.

The new daylight savings time probably has more to do with their powers of persuasion, influence and megalomania than with perspicacity and saving electrical power. Maybe time would have been organized a long time ago if politicians saved their own power and showed some real humility.

Imagine that. A humble presidential candidate. He’d lose.

In this world light can pose as darkness and darkness can present itself as light. It is not always easy to tell the difference. Nature, including humans, can be cruel as well as kind. Some outlaws will rob you with a six gun and some with a fountain pen. Beauty can seem terrifying, and terror, to some, appears noble.

Imagine a forest fire like a blizzard.

Our individual life styles and collective way of life may not mean as much as we think they mean. There is a time to refuse what we think is best for us. We may be destined for radical change. America may be the next civilization to turn to dust, and soon, for all we know. There may not be anything we can do to prevent it.

It’s worth pondering, but not worth troubling over. Nothing is worth that.

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