Our white Christmas has finally melted into memories, but the snow looks angry this morning. Technically, it's no longer snow, nor is it a memory, forcing its way downhill like a petulant CEO. It doesn't even need to mutter, "Get out of my way." Everything, everyone knows better.
It only looks angry, I discovered as I ran beside it along the James River Road. My vision of fast, mad waters disappeared when I looked over and realized I was passing bubbles (now, get your mind out of the gutter). I was winning the race. And, although it looked as if it could steal me away, if I put my feet in, it would be the one taking a detour.
Deep down, you and I know my discovery was a mirage. Melted snow, like a tsunami, has far more energy than I. We who build levees and seawalls (except maybe the Corps of Engineers, which remains in denial) know they are temporary and ultimately useless. Maybe we should have a tea party about this?
"Dream on," says Virginia. "Did anyone ever point out your tendency to go off on wild tangents?"
"I'm no worse than most people," I say. "Everyone has a pet peeve or two, usually completely emotional, irrational and in need of analysis."
The Bowman Women; A Work In Progress
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