It’s all a matter of perspective
A stormy week here in New Hampshire, with three storms forecasted this week (we’ve already had two; the second packing much more of a wallop than predicted). Winter heard the skiers’ complaints and answered with abundance.
Ollie has no idea what to do with all the white stuff. He looks at it and looks at me, beseeching. Sorry, puppy. Sometimes I’m glad he doesn’t speak English. I bet he knows some good swears.
A friend of mine refers to these long snowy days as the Axe-Murdering Days, after those old New England stories of cooped-up people taking family squabbles a little too far. I read a story last night about a New Hampshire man getting arrested for wielding an axe after he was told that McDonald’s had closed, in some weird fast-food version of the same old story.
We really are in the shit timeline, I think to myself sometimes.
Still, I’m not feeling cooped up just yet; I suppose all that Covid in the house was good for something. Just being able to leave this room makes my world feel expansive. It’s all a matter of perspective.
Outside, the world has gone quiet, snow muffles sound and discourages people from venturing. The trees look like children’s drawings and the air smells clean. I’ve monitored the accumulation by taking photos of the grill out back—it looks like a cartoon wearing a very cartoonish hat. I’ve added googly eyes to it to amuse myself in these dark days. Tomorrow’s storm might make it look more like a snowman standing on a stage.
It’s all a matter of perspective.