Today’s prompt is: It’s June 13th, the snow won’t stop falling.
It’s June 13th, the snow won’t stop falling. It must be springtime in Colorado Springs. A priest warned us the first year we moved here that this might be so, but I didn’t believe him. It never even snowed this long in Pennsylvania’s snow belt where I often wore a snowsuit under my Halloween costume and a winter coat over my Easter dress! But here we were, in the midst of a snowfall in June.
The snowflakes weren’t very large, but they came down in a consistent flutter, covering the grass that had finally begun to grow. I sat at the dining room table with a mug of hot tea and stared at it through the window. I sighed. Snow is my least favorite precipitation and weather. I didn’t know if I could liver here long-term if this was the norm. It felt like a knife in the back after finding what I thought was freedom and goodness.
Weather shouldn’t affect me so much, I know. I don’t even have seasonal affective disorder! But everything snow symbolizes rattles me. Death, waiting, isolation. I came here to spring free of those things and instead found them mocking me again. Would I ever be free of them? They say you have to have death to have a resurrection but does a resurrection come after every death? Would it come after mine?
It was June 13th and the snow wouldn’t stop falling. It’s now June 14th and the sun is out. All the snow has melted and I sip orange juice instead of hot tea. The sudden influx of melted snow–– water–– has caused my basement to flood. But at least the snow has stopped falling.