[continued from previous entry]
I'd only intended to inflict the first ten or fifteen minutes of the last bit on them. No, really. I hadn't planned to hijack so much of their Sunday, especially with G. beginning to feel antsy about getting the exercise part of her day going, heading out into the cold, being a fit, responsible human type person. And there was me, the devil on her shoulder, inflicting entertainment on them, encouraging slack, dissolution, lack of discipline (and feeling a teeny-tin sense of guilt about it).
I also knew I had to hit the road sooner rather than later, being that the liars on all the weather reports were warning that a sizeable blizzard was moving in, one that would dump a whole lot of snow on the Boston area that night. The prediction for northern Vermont appeared less alarming -- two to three inches, no big deal. So as far as beginning the slog north I felt no terrible urgency, was happy to procrastinate, had no problem at all, really, with the video-fest that taken shape.
The first ten or fifteen minutes of Buffy gave way to half an hour, then an hour, snowflakes flying outside, flurries coming and going. When the story finally came to a close, I packed up, gave G.&S. back their day, got going.
Two hours later, approaching the New Hampshire-Vermont border, I slipped north of the cloud cover, its edge stretching from east to west, a clean, curving line across the sky -- gray, nasty weather to the south, blue sky and late day sunlight to the north. The sun slipped behind the Green Mountains as the interstate took me toward Montpelier, a long, radiant sunset unfurled, gave way to twilight, then frigid, late winter darkness.
Next morning, I discovered that the weather fibbers had actually been lying this time around -- yes, two to three inches fell overnight, along with a bonus ten to 12 inches. The snow cover once more hip-deep. And fresh lynx tracks extending along both sides of the house. Big round pawprints, as if the cat had been issued snowshoes (explaining their ability to walk on top of powdery snow). One trail stretched across the hillside in front of the house, disappearing into the windbreak of pine trees along the end of the house. Anther trail appearing at the other end of the windbreak, extended back toward the road, the tracks disappearing where the cat jumped down onto the driveway, moving off across the gravel lane and up into the woods.
Once the storm moved by, temperatures skidded way the hell down into minus numbers, me praying that those kind of cold spells would be ending soon, hoping March would make nice. And two or three days later, it began to. All of a sudden, days of lovely above-freezing weather began rolling past, the music of snowmelt water in the house's rain gutters becoming a part of the days' soundtrack. March barging in like the proverbial lion, then shifting to something more user-friendly. Not a lamb exactly, since each few days of kinder weather give way to some backsliding, to two or three days of something way colder, not so cuddly or user-friendly. A groundhog maybe. Or a wombat. Possibly a hedgehog.
You get my drift.
[concluded in next entry]
España, te echo de menos
rws 4:06 PM [+]
Comments:
Post a Comment