Last night was crazy—the wind blowing from the west and into my apartment, every crack a gale. I went out with Lucy when I got home (around 4:45, so we can walk before the coyotes come out). But the wind…we had gone only a little way before I realized we couldn’t even take a short walk safely. So we turned around and I started to shout at the wind—joyfully, playfully. I said, You go girl!! And the wind increased! It blew harder and I was a puny human and shouted all the more, laughing. This was coming around the house to my door, and I was confident, so close to home. Then I tried to take my snowshoes off, and my fingers started freezing immediately. I couldn’t get them off and I couldn’t feel my fingers. Shouting to Lucy now, to come on, we’ve got to get inside snowshoes and all, but she walks away from me, scared of my shouting and snowshoe banging, so I shout harder, telling her we’ve got to get in! She comes, and we get in, and I realize how stupid I am, saying You go girl to Nature. Mother Nature.

The wind blew from the west all evening and well into the night. I fell asleep—after plugging the cracks in my doors and windows with every spare towel, sock, scarf—with my hat on, blankets pulled up over my face. It felt like a bad wind. An attack. A reminder of my precariousness.

After the Storm