It was about a year ago I wrote a longish piece on watching a storm move in. Today I'm doing it again, watching a storm move in, and it is important, because it causes us to stop and think; about the weather, about our place in the scheme of things, about our powerlessness in the face of natural phenomena, about the silence of snow falling, about the shape and direction of each snowflake, about being inside watching outside. About snow days when we were home from school, about winters past. Cold and warm, wet and dry, alone or together. So many thoughts, and some space and place to think about them.
Storm watching is an art, the roots of poetry.
posted by the other Joan @ 10:34 AM
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It's official: Miracles happen in the snow. I took yesterday off, as my street turns alpine with each snowflake. Today it was sunny, but my driveway was full and my car totally frozen in. I started to do the side steps myself (no son in residence at the time), and called work to say I didn't know how I was going to manage.
And then he drove by. Such a nice, strong, darkhaired young man with his father's snowplow. I asked if he could help me out. He asked me how much I would pay. Who knew? He quoted me a price, then a higher price (by ten bucks). I thought I "had" him, as I said he already mentioned the lower, and he said okay.
He did a great job and went further in helping me with my car. He was so sweet; the same age as my older son. It took a lot (long story short), but we got me going and I came in to work (where I am now, happily blogging away). Perhaps needless to say, I paid him the higher price after all, and took his father's business number to see about hiring him for the winter (and winters hereafter).
Moral: Miracles happen. I'm still frozen and sore, but pretty happy.
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