The blizzard had passed; now, calm, serene. Snow glittered on the Boston suburb of Woburn. “Perfect time for a walk,” John thought. Sun played hide and seek as he set off to scale the “mountain” whose summit offered Boston skyline glimpses.
The woods were beautiful, bright and deep. Across the spit of land between marsh and lake, Sunday afternoon, he strode with confidence. Atop the summit, Boston glowing gold in sun.
Then, Storm’s other half hit. With vengeance.
Wading waist high through snow drifts, John could hardly see ahead. He’d climbed this hill a hundred times. He knew the way, if only he could see anything beyond white horizontal hordes of sleety flakes; if only he could hear beyond wind howling through his head.
The rain/sleet/hail/snow pelted relentless. John shivered. He felt ice needles trickling down his neck and biting through his gloves.
“Crap. Can’t be more than four miles from home.”
“People have been lost in wilderness, run circles and died within a hundred yards of major highways.”
“Who? Oh, you again. I told you to go away. Anyway, that’s not going to happen to me. This isn’t wilderness anyway. It’s suburban Boston. I know this land. If only I could see….”
“Notice how snows falls into your boots? Note you’re breathing?”
“Whatever. I’m making progress. I’m strong; moving through these chest-high drifts.”
“Progress? A funny term. You’re moving. Toward what though? No sun, no visibility. Towards what?”
“I know where I’m going.”
“Using stellar navigation or solar?”
An hour later, home with kids, weather and worrier defeated, John wonders only for the briefest moment if things might have turned out differently. He laughs and Worrier sighs and pulls the lid back in place atop his sarcophagus.
The Blog in Review for 2017
The beginning of The Myths of the Veritas. (Stories that explore leadership, empathy, and ethics in times of crisis).
Tales of an American Childhood (Amazon)