Like the hound of the Baskervilles, the wind blows relentlessly across the Plains.* Old man winter (why is winter a man, but nature is a woman?) finally got in the door and now he rails for being shut out for so long. He flings snow by the handfuls at anyone and anything. The tantrum continues, but in the sky to the south hangs a fey rainbow, a symbol for millennia.
I nailed a quilt over the door and almost immediately felt warmer. I live in a complex that shows its age of more than 50 years.
A couple of your friends sure could use your wisdom about now. One got an exercise induced PH diagnosis confirmed by a top specialist in the field. Another blogs with some pain and stress. Both need you. I wish I could help because they are special.
Miss you, Dude.
Later.
* This sentence (or one mighty close to it) was the lead in a weather story written by Bill R. Lee.
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