Hurricane Sounds Like Blizzard

I’m listening to a hurricane

Through shutters

The sound is like the blizzards

Of childhood

The real hurricane is north of us. The real demon is about 80 miles away, while here, it sounds like a memory to me.

So it’s not scary.

The rattling metal panels sound like the wind rushing through the nooks of the attic of childhood.

All night long, the outer windows rattle and shake with the blustery, icy wind. It sounds like I need to snuggle deeper under the double layer of quilts on my bed.

My father has turned the heat down to minimum and we’ve opened our windows a crack to let in the fresh frozen air.

Tomorrow I’ll wake up

To a snowy, glittering landscape

I’ll have to put on my snowsuit.

Cumbersome pants and jacket, hood, mittens, heavy socks and boots.

But I can make angels in the snow.

Outside, free of the world ruled by my mother, in the great BackYard

I can dig my way into the whiteness, make tunnels in the snow.

The whiteness will blind me and there will be a great deep blue expanse overhead.

It will be so cold my nose and cheeks will be red. I’ll be free

Until lunch time and the dog comes outside, to grab the handle of my snow saucer

And spin me around on top of the crusty, icy drifts

Laughing and giggling out loud.