"How did you get here?" sempi asked when he first saw me.
"That's a question philosophers and theologians have been debating that since time immemorial," I started.
"I meant here, smartass!"
"I am in possession of an invention called an automobile, a horseless carriage, if you will," I replied. "I did this new-fangled thing called driving."
"But the Road..." sempi protested, the look in his eyes was somewhere between amusement and a desire to slap me for some peculiar reason.
It was then I checked with the Department of Transportation. Sure enough; the Road had been closed. As far as official people in official costumes were concerned, our Sahel, and, a forty mile stretch in either direction, was snowed in.
"Well, ain't that annoying?" I asked rhetorically, but then shrugged. "Mei fei tsu."
The snowstorm, heralded by strong winds for days prior, didn't really give us much in the way of accumulation, which has been a bit of a problem this season. At a guess, there was been four and five inches of fresh powder at the House of Owls and Bats. Of course, men have been known to exaggerate about measurements and women can't tell six inches to save their lives, so perhaps true accuracy requires a ruler and something beyond such gender bias.
Two hours later, the Road reopened. So it goes. A snow-day-that-wasn't in the mountains. The idea of a lot of traffic seems dubious. Local media outlets wax doomsayer anytime so much as a flurry occurs, which gets the travelers to stay in. When you live in a place that puts a fair amount of its economic faith in travelers from the world over, this can be frustrating, if not frightening.
I shrug and watch the traffic cams, listen to the scanner, and wait for the few brave souls who do traverse the Road to perhaps swing by so I can tell them where to go and perhaps suggest what they do when they get there. Part of me is annoyed at the weather; the drive up and down the hill in the name of leaving or going home, the barometric shifts hurting my twisted skeleton. Despite that, I do catch a smile a seeing the fresh powder, grateful for the four, five, or whatever objective amount we got.