The wind blew so hard that night the tree in my yard snapped in half. The next morning, I stood on the porch, in my robe and with a coffee in hand, talking to Mrs. Mallard about it. She said she heard that the tiny house at the other end of the street had its roof blown off. Even the bus stop sign in front of my home lay knocked over.
“Never heard my home rattle so loud. Thought maybe my home would be swept away and me with it,” Mrs. Mallard said. “Imagine that, a little old lady, in her pink nightgown, being blown away.” I wondered how I slept through such a storm.
I sipped the remainder of my coffee, which turned cold by the time Mrs. Mallard went back inside. People crowded in their yards, inspecting the damage. Other trees had fallen onto cars, or through windows. Too bad insurance doesn’t cover an act of god God, I laughed as I walked back into my home.
I stayed awake that night for the snow storm. The blizzard ended up piling six inches of snow on the streets. The next morning, I stood on my porch, in slippers and a winter jacket, with a cup of coffee. I took a sip, as Mrs. Mallard trudged through snow that went up to her waist, to come and greet me. What a crazy old women.
“Not seen snow like this since I lived in Toronto,” she said.
“Welcome to Calgary,” I said. My breath mingled with the coffee’s steam. I sipped my coffee, while the neighbors shoveled the snow off their driveways and whipped the snow off their cars.
“Glad I don’t have a driveway,” I said, and then walked back inside.