Frozen in place

You know those pictures of a beady-eyed Mastodon frozen in time, with its humongous yellowed tusks encased in a block of ice? That's what my car looked like two days ago, and I'm not speaking figuratively.

The night I decided to leave my car out of our crumbling garage to avoid having to struggle against its impossible-to-open garage door, that was the night that Ohio was hit by the blizzard and then freezing rain and then the below-zero temperatures brought by the harshest and most merciless of winds.

This frozen world of limbs that sparkle in the sunlight because they're attached to glass trees is an alien world, the landscape of a frozen moon that is almost impossible to walk or drive on, nevermind enjoy. It doesn't matter how long I've lived here, my being revolts against this scenery and wants to shriek at the winter sun for not doing its job. How can this sun be The Sun if it can't melt the hills of snow, break the dagger-pointed icicles or insinuate itself upon the neverending chill to warm our cold-wearied bones?

I really don't mind normal winters but I'm having trouble adjusting to the fact that some evil Artic sprite kidnapped winter and what we have instead is a changeling tundra of ice that has been castigating us for more than a week.

That's why February is my least favorite month (to put it kindly). Because it tends to bring with it the unkindest of cold weathers. Still, there's nothing much I can do except wait it out, especially since I'm among the blessed ones with a heated home and a roof over my head.

For now, I'll just repeat the Peanuts' rhyme against the rain and see if it works like a charm against this cold: "Winter, winter, go away, and come back some other day [actually, it's better if you just stay the heck away]!"