Leaning up against the Jeep, I craned my neck back as far as I could to see Saturday night’s meteor shower and tugged my scarf closer to my neck. Since this was my first show, I looked up in anticipation of galactic fireworks and every other imagination science fiction can provide. Real life, as is usually the case, was far less glamorous than my childhood fancies, and with two streaks of light it was over.
Much like the greatly-hailed weekend Nor’easter that was supposed to bring all the white fury that winter could muster and leave us buried beneath three feet of snow. The weathermen were “crying ruin like a town crier in Pompeii” and teacher and students alike spent longer in prayer on Sunday morning thanking God for grace and snow days. Noon struck and we scattered from church through the ever-increasing flurries and raced home excited at the thought of being trapped alive in our suburban caverns (with far too much enthusiasm for winter roads).
But we watched out the window as the blizzard subsided and by nightfall teachers were wary, snowplows were idling and the ground was only dusted with snow. Children made sure to say their prayers this night. And somehow, despite the mere frosting, everyone awoke to find school cancelled. That and a dictator’s haggard picture on the morning news. Someone must have wished upon one of those stars.
