On Thunderstorms, Spiders, and the Supreme Court

Processing the past few weeks

As I quick-step down the steep grade of my driveway, I feel the subtle changes that tell me a thunderstorm is near. The air as I stepped from my air-conditioned house feels thick, like a physical weight on my skin that I have to bear up under, full of so much moisture that a sheen of sweat almost immediately coats all visible skin. The wind is ruffling the very tops of the trees, making them toss their leaves so that the underbellies flip upside down and the tops twist towards me. My mission is simple: retrieve the package the UPS driver left for me on the driveway. Some have questioned why we wanted to build a house on top of a hill as we did, and I think most of the local UPS drivers count themselves in that number. Few brave the steep slope through the green tunnel of trees to a house they can’t even see. 

Maybe it’s asking too much faith from them to trust that there is indeed a house up here to go with the numbers on the mailbox by the road. So they leave me packages in strange pl…