Outside my window in my little rambler near downtown Woodinville, the world has been transformed. The fourth snowstorm unleashed another half inch of powder last afternoon and through the night.
Giant branches on the weeping willow in my backyard broke off and fell in the early morning hours. I vaguely remember a sound that resonated deep within a dream—but it wasn’t loud enough to fully awaken me.
I awoke to see the aftermath—a close call that narrowly missed falling on my roof. Exactly a week ago, another close call. A mail truck plowed into my van, shearing off the entire front bumper. One moment I was inching out carefully into the road as cars stopped to let me turn left. I remember happily listening to KEXP, looking left, looking right, left again and a head nod to the patient driver allowing me to turn—and then boom!
I’m still processing it all and awaiting work on the extent of the damage to my car. The mail truck driver was okay, I am sore and shaken up but alive. I realize how close I came to being killed or very seriously injured.
On this snowbound day in the frigid and weather-weary Emerald City, i’m counting my blessings. Life is good.