We thought we had won. The victory seemed complete. Our enemy had attacked, but our defenses held. After the attack, we had cleaned up the battle field, and the damage seemed minimal and easily repaired. If only we had known they weren't finished. They weren't lying in defeat, ineffectual. They were lying in wait, ready to pounce.
After work Thursday and Friday, I spent a little while shoveling the driveway and our walkways. Saturday I finished the walkway. After I had finished, I surveyed my work and thought, "Ahh, another winter storm cleaned up after. The shoveling is finished, and the roof doesn't look bad. I won't have to deal with it until the next storm." Later Saturday, we went out to do some shopping. As we were leaving, It pounced. The snow started coming. What we had thought was the main body turned out to be a vanguard, the scouts and light infantry. This storm brought the heavy armor. They sneaked past our lookouts, with the Weather Channel claiming that it was just another winter storm, 4-6" of accumulation, unless you lived by the coast. They were going to get the main assault, not us. We continued on our trip, arrogant in our ignorance. Suddenly the storm changed. The main body of freezing rain and wet heavy snow, instead of proceeding south, as expected, charged north, hoping to catch us unawares. We bravely battled along treacherous roads, fighting, struggling, to stay on the road. There were casualties. Others who didn't realize their peril and misjudged an innocuous turn. Thankfully, in those cases, the snow's strategy worked against it. While it did cause an accident, major damage was prevented by the sheer size of the previous army that had come through, and the drifts they had created.
Arriving at home safely, we again assumed that we had parried the attack. It seemed that the insidious ploy to sneak past our defenses and barrage us with an unexpected assault of ice had failed. It did create some minor delays, but nothing significant. Sunday morning, as I surveyed the damage done, I didn't think it was significant. How was I to know my enemy was not finished, only waiting? The sun was out, it was a beautiful day. The snow had attacked and failed. Sure, there was an inch or two to deal with in the pathways, but nothing significant. We went to church happy. In our absence, it struck again, with a concerted three prong approach.
The very sun that had seemed like a herald of our victory turned out to be a double agent, working for the enemy. Its warmth caused the snow's numbers to shrink. This may seem like it was on our side but the truth has been discovered. The shrinking snow wasn't defeated. It was merely reforming into a denser battalion. Where it had been light, it became heavy. Where it had been packed, it became solid. Even still, the sun's evil attack had only just begun. As the snow on my roof continued to shift its formations, bringing its troops into ever denser ranks, the sun continued its work. I'm sure it started slowly at first. A few drips running down the roof, acting as scouts to find the unguarded locations. In retrospect, I saw these very harbingers of doom, and discounted them as meaningless drips of water. Further proof that the storm had been vanquished. Ah, my blind ignorance. You see, these scouts were merely preparing the way. Soon there were more. Eventually, the snow on the roof shifted, slightly. The restraining walls of ice on the eaves gave way, opening the way for the entire mass to come down in one continuous sheet. While I wasn't there to see the attack, the aftermath was disturbing because of its sheer magnitude. My driveway was buried. My car virtually disappeared. The door to my house could open, but it was touch and go for a bit. The walkway down the side of the driveway was obliterated as if it had never been.
Upon my return, I witnessed the destruction that had been visited on my shoveling. I attacked with a vengeance. The snow resisted valiantly, but it was no match. It wore me down and exhausted me, but I pressed on. After reclaiming the territory I had lost so gruesomely, I resolved to take the fight to the snow. I got my ladder, and assaulted the high ground of my roof. The snow had grown lax, never suspecting I would bring the fight to it. I attacked like a Viking beserker, granting no quarter. I'm not proud of what I became, but I am proud of what I accomplished. At one point, as I was nearly finished with my assault, the snow, trying to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, launched an all out final assault. It charged with its entire reserve army it had held in reserve on the steeper portion of my back roof. However, such an attack is not a quiet thing. The approaching horde warned me by their very battle cries that were meant to intimidate. I stood in the face of the onslaught, and laughed. Some say my sanity fled at that point, when faced with the prospect of having to redo all the work I had just done, but We know better. We knew that they had left nothing in reserve, and that now our victory was assured. We assaulted the invading horde with a vengeance, and after throwing them down, we attacked their fortifications of ice. It pains me to admit that at sometime during this assault, my longtime companion and friend, my snowshovel, perished. In my rage and bloodlust, I didn't stop to mourn the passing of my friend. I threw half his broken body off the roof, but continued to use him to attack.
If only the battle had ended there. The losses were high, but it would have been seen as a victory still, I think. However, in my arrogance, I resupplied, seeking to remove the last vestiges of the snow's assault. As I was requisitioning a replacement shovel at Walmart, the snow began its most devious plan yet. It signaled the sun to retreat. It quietly slipped away, taking its light and warmth with it. When I got back, the seemingly paltry defenses of the remaining snow proved to be nearly impenetrable, even with my new shovel. And so I concede the battle. It was costly for both sides, but the snow finally wore me down with its seemingly endless resupply. The war is yet to be decided, but this battle goes to the snow.
Well fought.
