Cruelty of the gods
So they allowed us a taste of winter this past weekend. The ski slope accepting the arrival of a snowstorm like a long lost favorite brother suddenly appearing at the front door. My skis giving gratitude as they performed a silent dance down the mountain. My granddaughter as excited to play in the snow as a teenager attending a Taylor Swift concert.
And now this.
Flooding rain. While it is not time to ask Noah if there are any extra seats on the arc, I wouldn't mind going standby. It would have been far easier never to have loved (snow) than to have loved and lost in less time than it takes Donald Trump to diss a rival.
So maybe this is a bit melodramatic. Maybe this isn't the end if the world and maybe the recent snow wasn't necessarily God's best work since creation of the universe. And maybe this storm won't wipe out every vestige of what came before. And maybe next week, or the one after that, winter will reappear. And will stay with us longer than your obligatory last visit to your aunt's house. The one you were never fond of.
But, at least in the moment, this one hurts. Maybe not as much as the time you ran out of your favorite cereal and couldn't get to the store right away, but pain is still pain.
So I ask the gods to go gentle on us. Treat us with respect and realize that we pay homage not because we fear you but because we believe you are fundamentally good and just.
Even though you appear to treat winter (for those of us who long for it’s embrace) like a four letter word, and you didn't throw me a couple of free Taylor Swift tickets.
Maybe you could just reserve a seat for me on the arc, in case I am reading this situation wrong.