Rough Dallas winter — and it’s not even winter yet
Winter doesn’t officially begin here in the Northern Hemisphere until December 21, but don’t tell that to the chevroned ranks of ducks and geese we observed exiting the area post-haste yesterday.
Dallas (and most of the rest of North Texas) has been closed up in a virtual Frigidaire for the past several days. It started with a freezing rainstorm early Friday and has ended up this Sunday morning with a whimsical bout of freezing fog — so those windshields that we recently chipped icebergs off of will now need to be scraped all over again.
Unless, that is, we’re willing to stay housebound awhile longer and wait for the hallelujah sunshine and 36 degree temps that the priest-philosopher-weathermen are telling us to expect later in the day.
(Can I get an “Amen”?)
Anne and I embarked on our Friday morning walk as the heaviest of the precip was ending, expecting to find ample opportunities for artistic photos of ice-encrusted leaves and such. (As you can see, we found them.)
What we did not expect to see — because, thankfully, our tiny little corner of the neighborhood was spared the worst — were scenes of devastation to our neighbor’s houses caused by the crashing down of overweighted tree limbs onto their roofs, eaves and cars.
Having seen the flashes and heard the buzzing chatter of transformers blowing out from our own house earlier in the morning, we were not too surprised to actually witness a transformer blowout as it occurred. Arcs of intense blue light continued for several seconds before the electro-beast finally gave up and died.
Even Old Glory was not immune to the ravages of the icy buildup, as you can see by the grievously ripped and tattered flag flying over the Baptist church on the corner. As we walked by, we could see that the folds of the rattling banner were still iced together, while some of the shredded pieces of fabric lay on the ground around it.
Presumably this season will play out as they usually do here after such an intense spell of early winter, and we’ll be able to count the number of nights below freezing on the fingers of one hand.
Two of those fingers are crossed, believe me.