THE RELIGION OF BIG WEATHER

ICICLES--SIX FEET LONG, AND AT THEIR TIPS, as bright and sharp as needles--hang from the eaves: wild ice stalactites, dragon's teeth. I peer through them to see the world transformed to abstract whiteout. Little dervish snow tornadoes twirl across the blank. The car is out there somewhere, represented by a subtle bump in the snowfield. The old Jeep truck, a larger beast, is up to its door handles, like a sinking remnant: dinosaur yielding to ice age. The town's behemoth snowplow passes on the road, dome light twirling, and casts aside a frozen doe that now lies, neck broken, upon the...

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