"Ritual is about joining vision and practicality, heaven and earth, samsara and nirvana. when things are properly understood, one's whole life is like a ritual or a ceremony."
— Pema Chodron, The Wisdom of No Escape, p. 77

Monday March 2. Easton. Snow.

We got a hard snow last night. Around midnight it began to blow while still snowing quite heavily. I stood for a while with the front porch light on—the front porch is rarely used here—and watched out the dining room window as the snow blew across the front of the house. Whipping is probably more accurate.

The gusts plus the heavy snow made some howling and screaming sounds. At one point it really sounded ghostly — like a tormented soul. Given that midnight was rolling around I genuinely got creeped out by the howls and screams and whistles and had the distinct fear that if the house was haunted that now would be the time they showed up and I decided to go to bed.

This morning coming downstairs a movie I watched a couple nights ago resonated with me. A couple with her daughter is living in a grand old vacant house in the dead of winter. The house is in the middle of a great plain so when the wind and snow come they drift and form around the house.

The broken windows and roofing has caused most of the interior to become an ice palace — absolutely still, the old furniture coated with ice and snow. Everything had been left in place because the owners had left so suddenly. Upstairs there was a room where nothing was leaking too badly and there was only dust on everything. The family stayed there while they were hiding out in the house.
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My dad’s been on the internet for the last 45 minutes looking up every detail about the weather here and in Portland, and spent time looking at weather cams from around Maryland. It’s like watching myself. Meanwhile — out the window the snow comes down, the cypresses burdened, hollies in a deep bow.