Season of Funk

As we turned out the lights and turned in to bed Wednesday night, A. and I both thought the current snow storm would yield a couple of inches of wet, spring snow that would surely melt the next day.

We woke up to seven inches of wet, heavy snow. And it was still snowing.

A. went around to the birdhouses and bird feeders and gently cleared the snow off them. Please, please, little feathered friends, don't abandon us. Have faith; spring is near. Really, it is.

It snowed, heavily and faithfully throughout Thursday and for part of Friday. At first, it was exciting. Why? Because - on Wednesday night THERE WAS NO WIND. The snow fell down, rather that whipping at the earth at an angle more horizontal than vertical, feeling more like sand on exposed skin than fluffy winter wonderland.. It was novel, to see snow so prettily piled up, rather than drifted in.

The wind picked up on Thursday afternoon.

It is Saturday afternoon and I have been drifted into my house for two days now. (My little Civic can't handle the nearly two-foot drifts. Bah. Stupid fuel-efficient car!) I can hear the wind howling and groaning outside. Instead of feeling cozy and safe inside, I feel gray and cold and sad.

I feel so defeated, so tired.

The other night Buster was high centered in a snowdrift in the backyard. This weather is approaching the ridicuous.

Early this morning, A. had to travel to a town 45 miles from here for class. He didn't have to make the trek for yesterday's session due to road closures. He just called to say he was heading back home. I looked up the road report and warned him of the high winds, blowing snow, and icy spots on the interstate. The pass through the mountain looks scary. Menacing. Like a big bully.

I am sick of the constant, throbbing dread that comes with winter travel.

I need A. to brush the snow off my windowsills, and remind me to have faith. Spring is just around the corner, or maybe through the mountain pass.