All The Tiny Little Screams

This photo used under a Creative Commons license.

As winter drags on its January clothes, I identify one of the things I detest the most about the season: The piling of snow.

Snow does not merely fall. It clings. As the season wears on, I have not only to shovel the flat part of the sidewalks and driveway, but also the walls of the chasms that build as the snow deepens, else soon the driveway will be as narrow as the sidewalks and the sidewalks nonexistent.

Snow piles up on the cars. I hate that the most. When we came home from Arizona a few weeks ago, my truck was covered with at least six inches of snow. I had to clean it off before I could drive to the bus stop, and, even now, bits of that snow are still clinging to the truck, underneath the new layer of snow that just fell overnight.

I feel closed in and claustrophobic with all that snow about, and driving a vehicle still half-buried -- even if it's only the perception -- makes me mad. I feel oppressed, as if I were driving through an avalanche. A few mornings ago, I was driving the truck to work, struggling to scrape the inside of the windshield as the defroster struggled to warm up. Suddenly I drove into a bank of fog. Scraping at the windows while driving through fog all the while feeling oppressed by the mountains of fluff on the ground and on the truck nearly drove me into a ditch. Only the thought of having to drive the 178 miles to and from work kept me going so I could get to the bus stop and peacefully fall asleep in a vehicle that has enough headroom and width and length to push the snow away, even if it's cold enough inside I dream I'm driving to work inside a refrigerator.

My sister today posted on her Facebook page saying she's not been sleeping well last night because of all the noisy snow. I know how she feels. I wouldn't mind the snow if I couldn't hear all the tiny screams as the flakes fall.

PS: The only one good thing about continued snow is that it does drive the Sootis from their natural habitat.