It is March the 18th. I wake up this
morning at 6:10 to the sound of ice pellets ticking against the windows. I
stumble out into the hallway; walk over to the big Palladian window that
overlooks my front yard. My heart sinks. My chin drops to my chest. There’s an
inch and a half film of slush covering the world, and now a mixture of sleet
and freezing rain is adding to the misery. There is not one single sign of
life, no dogs, cats, birds or even squirrels to be seen. Where do they go at
times like these? I trudge into my office and check out the weather radar map.
It shows a band of green and pink running directly through Short Pump, with an
ominous blue band to the north and west. It is 33 degrees. This is not the day
that the Lord has made; this day comes directly from the pit of hell courtesy
of Lucifer himself.
I slump back in my chair. I grab my cell phone and
open the weather gadget that shows the 7 day forecast of some of my favorite
places. I flip over to Key West. Just as I suspected, the forecast for the entire
week shows bright sunshine and 79 degrees, all seven days, into infinity. I
remember when I was younger I used to brag about being from Virginia.
Specifically, I would champion the fact that in Virginia one gets to enjoy all
four seasons, and about how the changing of the seasons brought with it charm
and variety. Lies, all lies.
I have a birthday coming up. I will turn 55. Seasons
have become overrated. The only season that appeals to me on mornings like this
is the monotonous 79 and sunny of places like Key West and San Diego. I’ve been
warned about global warning for over 15 years now and, well, it can’t get here
soon enough for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment