She said something beautiful. What she said to me was this:

"Only when it snows can you see the shape of the wind."

Her in Minneapolis, me in Madison, I agreed. She was right. Absolutely right.

In the wind -- over the past few days of weather -- I have seen the shapes of a middle finger, a heating bill the size of a phone number, John Kerry's snow-white ass mooning me from the warm confines of a New Hampshire ski lodge, and, finally, a hamburger eating me.

This summer, the wind can damn well shape itself around my sweaty body and be damned well happy about it.

I will be.

Thankx to Molly Grrl.

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