Forgive our sins, give us snow


I think I may have done something wrong to the snow Gods, but I don't know what it was.
I mean there has to be some reason why it isn't snowing.
The lack of precipitation has to be some kind of divine intervention to punish all of us who sinned during mud-season and beyond.
But, I personally can't remember what I did.
I would have hoped Levels "Pray for Snow" party last Saturday would have cleansed all inequities, and cracked the skies open. But I was out of town and didn't make it that might be it.
It could be that the petex of my skis haven't tasted snow because of some other misuse of karma.
Maybe it was because after college I thought about moving to Arizona instead of back home to Colorado.
Maybe whatever divine entity that controls the crystallization of water into snow was angered because I sought a warmer climate, and this is my retribution.
I'm sorry, I'm here let it fall.
Still I look out my window and Bear's Ears are still as bare, so is Mt. Werner.
The cause could be because I refused to buy new equipment this season, an opted for my nearly 15-year-old Rossie's. Perhaps economics and the incantation of snow walk hand-in-hand, even natural snow now, not just the stuff sprayed out of a hose.
I should have at least bought some gloves at Cashway or Kmart.
Well, whatever sin I committed against those who bring the snow is done and gone, and obviously much like in school, I not only got myself in trouble but those around me.
Sorry to all of you whose snowmobiles are still in dry dock, and to all of those whose skis and boards still remain propped in the corner of the house it's all my fault.
To take the blame, and to make things right, I will make myself the sacrifice to those who create snow. It's time to take your penance out on me, and not the entire state of Colorado.
Snow Gods, if you want to get me back, I'll be on the road all Thanksgiving holiday, snow me in.
Stop me from making it home for Mom's turkey, and the Nebraska-Colorado game but do it with snow.
Get my bosses as mad at me as when I misuse there, their and they're by trapping me on the east side of the Eisenhower Tunnel.
But trap me in inches upon inches of the white stuff.
Allow my car to rust out from Interstate 70 salt, but make sure it's not just ice the salt is meant to melt.
If you do this, and give us all snow, I swear I'll behave myself all winter, mud season and beyond, and this time I mean it. It could be I'm over reacting, maybe it's just the way some winters go you can't think of the slopes until December.
But when you've lived a lifetime being spoon-fed early season skiing it seems like a sin to think of hitting the slopes after Thanksgiving.
Once again, to the Gods that control the white stuff, I'm sorry. So please, let it snow.

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