We’ve been hearing word that snow was returning to our valley for half a week now, and true to the meteorologist’s word, it snowed right on cue overnight.

I was riding my bike around in my shirtsleeves yesterday, feeling for the change in the weather with my bare arms and sniffing for it with my nose. I didn’t perceive any great change.

Usually when there’s a big storm coming in around here, the wind starts howling from the south, raising temperatures and bringing all sorts of new air and scents. Not so, yesterday. The sun was hidden behind some high clouds and the air still, nothing foretold any big change.

The day was cool and the atmosphere unmoving clear into the evening as the light faded to a purple dusk. And just before I went to bed, it was just the same.

I looked up at the starless sky, still somewhat incredulous, sniffed for some shift in the humidity or scent, and traipsed off to bed with my mistrust of weathermen intact and a slow shake of my head at the continued attention I give to their predictions.

But as dawn filtered through the my window this morning, I could sense a difference in the direction light was coming into the room and knew the prediction of snow had been correct after all. I brushed the curtain aside to see new snow covering everything in an unbroken drape, as low, dark clouds foreshadowed more of the same before long.

Sometimes prediction doesn’t match what we see evidenced in the weeks, days, hours or even moments before something awaited comes to pass. The sum of one’s own experience isn’t always a reliable predictor of what’s to happen.

After all, we never really know what’s going to be, no matter how much information or observation is available to us. We experience what each new day brings, regardless of expectations. That's what I keep reminding myself, at least.

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