I’m not sure when snowstorms became a thing to be numbered— they were fairly common as I grew up; happened rather regularly Upstate; had no names. Nonetheless, they do feel more fierce now than they did then. Then they were just snowfalls. Led to jolly fort-making or sledding.
It all reminds me of Moominvalley, my ever-present touchstone of childhood; of fantasy or unrealness. Moominvalley in November; Moominvalley Midwinter (where we seem to be—anyone for pine needle dinner, or a secreted jar of pickled gherkins or jam saved against hard times?). Anyway. Such is where we find ourselves— in Tove Jansson’s Finland of decades ago, but here. Don’t tell me Climate Change isn’t a thing. It surely is, fairy tales notwithstanding.
Thus far I must say I’ve mostly enjoyed our severe weather this season. Only for selfish reasons, I’ll admit. It’s come at times that’ve neither stranded me from home nor prevented me from work; afforded me some quiet days. I’m just lucky, I know that. It’ll get worse before it gets better I imagine. We’ll see. We must prepare and attempt to stem the tide, at the same time.
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 