“Many of them have broken and fallen across the drive. Beyond the drive, down where it and the road meet, where the bar ditch is, there is a brown, savage run of water. It is early afternoon, but already it is growing dark, and the fifth week of the storm raves on. I have never seen such a storm of wind and ice and rain, not here in the South, and only once before have I been in a cold storm bad enough to force me to lock myself tight in my home. So many things were different then, during that f...irst storm. No better, but different. On this day, while I sit by my window looking out at what the great, white, wet storm has done to my world, I feel at first confused, and finally elated. The storm. The ice. The rain. All of it. It's the sign I was waiting for. –– I thought for a moment of my wife, her hair so blonde it was almost white as the ice that hung in the trees, and I thought of her parents, white-headed too, but white with age, not dye, and of our little dog Constance, not white at all, but all brown and black with traces of tan; a rat terrier mixed with all other blends of dog you might imagine. I thought of all of them.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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