Thursday, February 7, 2013

Snow Man Snow!

I said to myself back on July 16th  - February 7 is the most righteous day for a perfect storm. Tonight I hope to be proven correct. (Suspect?)

I love a massive hit something like living in a snow crater for a few days. Snow has a good vibe as long as you are not stranded along a lonely stretch of road where wolves dine.
There are times you wish nature would just put a halt to things and insist everyone just relax and marvel at its awesomeness. I have big plans.

I live with a weather person whether I want or not. Kristine reads from weather scriptures handed down by Anemi, Boreas, Harpyiae, Zephyrus and Harold Hussein back in the day. She doesn’t build snowmen – not a big enough thrill she wants G force winds to deliver the supreme hit and blanket us like a global tarpaulin until satisfied. All I want is to walk out the front door and see snow piled beyond power lines.

The dogs are positively enchanted by snow. We usually wait until a car or two cuts big grooves in the road and then we let the posse loose. They travel the cuts in the road like escaping a misery tunnel to freedom.

I guess it’s been about six years when it snowed everyday whether you pleaded for it or not. To be perfectly frank – I was one of the insane spooks who woke up every morning and boiled a few twigs and dead spiders in a pot and chanted for a serious dose of daily snow. It worked!

At this moment I’m looking out my office window and traffic is lined up and down Christie Street – do you think I care – fuck ‘em – I’m sitting here with a glass of red – some Densil Washington on disc – I think he’s back in a pilot suit tonight – iPad – and camera charged up ready to catch some blizzard lizards! A couple days back I was in seventy degree weather thinking how much more lovely it would be kissing sweet winter air than inhaling putrid diesel.

I love Canada! We have real weathermen – slick wind resistant hucksters that could bullshit Satan. Like I said, I live with an authentic weather eater who won’t leave the house until someone tells her the coast is clear. By that time I’ve been on a forty kilometer outing with the dogs she’s still standing at the window waiting for all hell bust a move.

So my message to the heavens above – don’t screw with me – bring it on – a second glass of red is hesitant but not about to wait  to toast the big one!

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