Between 2 and 3 at night (I listened), there was a shift. The warm(ish) misty air gave way to freezing rain, then snow, then winds, then plummeting temps. It all happened within a minute. Maybe two.
I could tell this morning: a storm came, racked havoc, moved on.
Looking out, I could see it all: the ice, the snow, the wind, the passage of time. Fury diffused.
In my pajamas still, I drove toward the lake.
Does a chill in the air always follow a storm?
At dusk, I drove out into the country. The storm, never satisfied with just one hit, came back with a sweeping fury of snow and wind. I would mind none of this if only I could be assured that storms are a passing thing. That they aren’t the norm.
In the meantime, I battle them. I cultivate indifference and pretend that tomorrow, I’ll hardly notice. My personality will be transformed. Happiness will come from within, not from some freak meteorological condition out there, in the brooding skies of December.