My previous experience has prepared me to face a storm: if the storm has a name then you must prepare a survival kit of wine, tequila, beer and rum, cans of tuna and bottles of water. If the storm does not have a name, your survival kit is mostly liquor and crackers. So with this unnamed storm, I sat with my friend MCG to wait for the arrival of the help help storm.
And the hours went by between libation and monologues, I had even forgotten about the help help storm.
When her roommate arrived, covered in snow and hair, looking like a distressed yeti, I asked him has the storm had been postponed until further notice. He said, nay, it has been going on for the last hour or so. So I grabbed my coat and walked home. Snowflakes softly fell, in great proportions they floated down. Sound was muffled. I could hear my boots crunching as I walked, but that was it. No cars on the street, only glittery specks whispering down to earth.
This is definitely NOT a STORM!
Storms are fierce, vicious and brutal, full of sound and fury. They uproot trees, incinerate homes, hurl vehicles and cows through walls of concrete. This tender descent of endearing snow is more like a murmur than a roar.
Ok, for some a visual identification is clearer, STORM:
Not Storm:
So listen well, linguists, if there is no hollering and screaming and broken windows, no violent destruction of valued property… you need to change the name.
Storm, pft.
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