I woke at 3 to hear the thump of snow clots on the roof, scrape of branches, clack of sleet. It was unsettling; it was hard to get back to sleep, and maybe I did or maybe I didn't. When alarm rang at 5, I got up and stood at the bedroom window. The air was filled with whipping snow; the windows were running with water. No plows have cut open our little street yet, and why should they? Why should anyone be going anywhere?

Tom is supposed to drive to work today, and already I am urging him to stay home. The weather is abysmal, and it's supposed to go on like this all day. I do not want to imagine him fishtailing down unplowed city hills or slithering into the winds that tear across the Casco Bay Bridge. And now our power is flickering . . . 

Well, at least I've already made coffee. For the moment the furnace is rumbling, and the refrigerator is growling. We've got plenty of firewood; and as far as I can tell, no big branches have fallen in the yard . . . yet.

But I'm tired of being so tense about the weather. I'm tired of these terrifying gales, one after another, all winter long.

***

Last night, before the storm kicked in, T and I went out to a showing of Hitchcock's Suspicion--the tale of an untrustworthy husband, or is he? The ending of the film is sort of happy and sort of gaslighty and mostly creepy and unnerving, and I am relieved to not be living that life. Better to have a tree fall on the house in an ugly spring storm. At least I share troubles with someone I trust.

***

Today, if the power stays on, I'll be editing, finishing class plans, cleaning the upstairs rooms, arguing with the cat, who is already blaming me for the weather. Usually I'd be planning to go out to write tonight, but I expect the gathering will be canceled.

If the power doesn't stay on, I'll be sitting by the fire reading and figuring out how to cook on a stove not designed for it.

Wherever you are, I hope you are warm and dry.