User:LookingforJMcWill319/sandbox

Mid-April/ mid pandemic, 6:00 am. The dogs and I walked down a narrow private dirt road; not open to traffic, though there hasn’t been any traffic on the Point this winter anyway. After an unexpected spring snowstorm following news that people are dying from Corona Virus in New York City every two minutes, I could have remained flattened, but I decided to give nature a try. It’s got to be the last storm before fifty-degree weather sets in and certainly it had a charm that is short lived in January or February. The largest flakes I’ve ever seen sizzled and died on my face and hung in my hair. These big flat flakes churned around like leaves in tiny tornedos in mock-seriousness. But they were driven by a wind that is just too sweet this time of year, to be taken seriously. And veering everywhere on either side of the road, the improbably tall and perfectly shaped pine trees that signify Northern Maine, smelling like pitch, creaking and shushing me, holding onto arms full of white fluff. So an ordinary, pre-coffee, dog-peeing walk during the contemplation of mass death became a surreal stroll through a giant, polished, snow globe. No, not a serious storm at all; way too cheerful.