Day 38. For two days newscasters
predicted a snow storm with an accumulation of ten to twelve inches on Friday. Visibility, they warned, will fall to one half mile or less creating hazardous conditions. The snow’s falling. It’s the type that obliterates, fills tracks of movement in an hour, the type if the wind ranted would label it a blizzard. It’s weather that made my father wonder when I was young, “what happens to the poor animals?” The forecast sent many to gas stations and grocery stores. People filled Wegman’s aisles, carts overflowed, unusual for an early Thursday afternoon. I added a fifteen pound bag of birdseed and a three pound bag of small Gala apples for the rabbits, the fox, and the deer.
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