Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Three Hundred Seventy Seven

If I was capable of jinxes, hexes and spells I might believe I was responsible for the turn in weather that came after I wrote last week’s diary. But I am not, despite what I might claim otherwise, so I must grudgingly admit it was happenstance, though it felt inevitable. But there are precious few things in life that actually are, much as we might want them to be. The fates do not sit in their caves weaving our futures, they are just darning socks to ward off the winter’s cold, which does come most every year in these parts. But not always.

Several days last week we awoke to snow on the ground, a storm having blustered through in the evening. By afternoon the snow, which had been barely enough to cover the ground, vanished as the temperature rose past freezing. A typical late spring. Following that came two of the warmest days of the year, sunny and glorious. Then all hell broke loose.

The wind picked up in the afternoon, blowing fiercely, though it was still warm and sunny out. Buildings shook and detritus flew everywhere. South of here, with the ground bare and dry, a grass fire broke out, racing with the wind across the countryside. The firefighters fought frantically to stall its eastward spread, knowing that by nightfall the storm the wind was carrying would arrive and quench any flames.

The wind didn’t cease – it is still howling and twisting out there now – and as darkness arrived it finally brought snow with it. A whirling squall rendered everything white, the snow and wind combining to make an impenetrable wall. Only a little snow fell here, though in other parts highways were impassable in the heavy drifts. The frantic wind carried the storm by too quickly, leaving a reminder of winter.

The sun is out now, the clouds have gone, taken by the wind too. It remains, as it always does in these parts, angry and fierce now, though that fury is slowly subsiding. Soon it will just be a breeze, calm and light, having forgotten what stirred its ire.