How To Disappear Completely

In a Tumultuous Privacy of Storm

Ah..snow, real snow. Not the three flakes and a breath of ice that cancels school in sun-clad Georgia, but the driving, swirling, car-engulfing, field-swallowing blizzards of the Rocky Mountains. The kind that necessitates storing extra provisions and blankets in one's vehicle, should he be so brash as to venture into the storm. The kind that piles up in drifts that one must crawl over lest he disappear into the depths. One crawls...belly scraping surface...spread-eagle in order to shift the body's weight over the greatest possible surface area. The livestock greet you with frosty faces, ghostlike and hungry waifs. And the wind! Blinding, whirling, horizontal precipitation. Eyes sting, then freeze. All sound but the wind shut out. One is locked in Emerson's tumultuous privacy of storm (The Snow Storm).