When winter won’t quit

Gale

 

Okay, no time for introspection; I want to load this post before the power cuts out and the internet flashes its “unable to connect” message again.

We are in the midst of a dramatic temperature change: a 50-degree dip in mere hours. Adios, 70 degrees; hello 22. And what’s powering this weather front? Howling wind punctuated by 55 mile-per-hour gusts.

Fifty-five — it’s not just a highway speed. This evening 55 smashed a porch chair to smithereens. Fifty five blew in the barn windows and tore a generous bite from Martin’s office roof.

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The roaring racket of fluttering tin lured us from the house; and in the fading light, Martin mounted a ladder and valiantly attempted to tack down the loose roof. But the billowing tin nearly yanked him from perch… nearly sent him airborne. It was scary — watching him cling desperately to the office top, struggling to ride out the wind’s clutches. When it finally receded, he scrambled down and leaned against the wall, shaking.

The roofing? It’s all yours, we told the wind.

And as for this winter? I have just one word:

“Uncle.”

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