December 16 2007, 11:30 PM Relux

It has been said to me by fellow transplants from the North East that, in the face of weather like this, people from where I came from don't have as much trouble driving as people do here. A large part of this is that, when faced with weather like this, people from where I came from don't. I sat and watched, and, as the snow thickened, so too did the traffic on the highway that snakes along the river. One of the truisms about driving around here is that tunnels make traffic: folks slow down for them (for reasons I've never understood). The snow, so my theory goes, turns the whole land into a tunnel, and instincts take over.

I drove out into it, anyway, being careful of foot and hands and mind, ever wary of the possibility of suddenly participating in an unpleasant physics experiment. I did this because friends have a tradition of burning down their house. Not exactly, really: the idea here is to resurrect past holidays by lighting (to an extent) a Christmas tree with candles, real candles. So we lit them, counting them as we went. We turned off the lights to watch, and then blew then out one by one, counting down. Mr. Referent was the ceremonial holder of the extinguisher who looked the most nervous; we did not burn the house down. There was cider, too. I came home by the most level route possible, which is something of a trick around here.

It is a peaceful night outside after all of that. It is quiet enough that the skittering rumble of the plows as they trace their courses are audible at distance. The winds have settled some, and no longer moan as they chase themselves around the houses. The roads are clear.