It happened while I was standing on the other side of the house in the driveway. Whoosh. In a second I realized what the noise was. Nearly a one-foot-deep accumulation of snow had let loose and slid off our steep roof, all in one big avalanche.
Had I been standing in the fall zone, I might have died.
It keeps happening while driving. The present condition of our local roads is horrendous. Deep holes have formed where a mixture of ice, road salt, thawing, and plowing have bore into the asphalt. The worst craters are hidden in melt water, undiscovered until too late to miss.
It’s as if the creators of the action-adventure video called driving have added a new challenge level to the game; only here, real people could get killed. While not deadly themselves (unless you’re a tire or an axle), reactionary drivers are darting around the potholes, often crossing into the oncoming-traffic lane. Unlucky is the one in the swerver’s path.
It’s bound to happen while walking. Storm-after-storm our Eastern Red Cedars, with their feathery evergreen tops, collected the snow and ice without letting go.
When the weight exceeded holding capacity during a recent ice storm, trunks snapped in two. Hundreds now have their tops detached, and many are still dangling in the air, the falls interrupted by snags. They will drop, someday, sometime. I can only hope it’s not while I’m walking underneath.
It completely surrounds me; danger is everywhere. When winter ends the scenarios will change, but the potential will remain. Heat stroke, lightening strikes, snake bites. Invisible killers such as Lyme disease will lurk outside my door.
Nature-made threats or man-made crimes, it has become clear to me how easy it is to dwell on what could happen. Meanwhile, we can spend a lifetime taking precautions and thwarting the odds of hardship, but none of us can make the hazards go away.
Should I enjoy the adrenaline, that bodily response that gives me the energy to run?
Should I cower inside my home? It’s tempting when my tolerance is low, drained by a harsh and trying winter.
No; I choose to cherish.
The end can come without warning. There is no way to know if you’ll be the next poor bloke standing, driving, walking or living in the wrong place at the wrong time. Stressful perhaps, but without the pending doom, I would be complacent about the fragility of life.
So it is with awe, not fear, that I stand and consider the deep rubble of snow, ice, and shingle dirt that now cover my front lawn. Whoosh. The event took fewer than two seconds, proving that every moment counts. I’m glad I was standing in the driveway, bearing audio witness to the scene. I’m glad that life is not without threats. And like the snowman in the snapshot below, I’m glad to be alive, even if it’s just for one more day.
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