It snowed and that is my writing excuse. I had lofty intentions, a back-to-back blog posting extravaganza. And then the snow and instead of writing, I found myself on the roof of the house shoveling and cursing and trying to find God. I felt an urge for some type of divine protection if any god protects against blatant foolishness.
I tried to push snow from the edges first, so that the ground would be higher and (I thought) softer with fluffy mounds of snow. My metal state was improved as I saw the snow banks beneath the eaves grow to three and four foot monsters. Surely if I fell, a soft embrace awaited. I would laugh, Ha!, if I were to fall. Then I could climb onto the roof again and fall on purpose.
Yeah. Finding myself sliding headfirst though, that sobered me somewhat. It was still farther than I wanted to fall. Three hours later, I found the error of my optimism. The fluffy snow? Didn't exist. No, the snowbanks were dense, near solid back breakers that barely were able to be shoveled. I might have died but at least on the way to my maker, I would had a measure of hope and optimism, so I suppose my demise would not have been a terrible experience. Except the end result, of course. Death and all, you know.
The Quest continues.