Accurate facts on the ground merely multiply the hype within the labeled clouds. The curse reversed. Originally, weather was interpreted like chicken innards. Predictably, awe, mystery, panic accumulates. It lies in the loss of the curvaceous. The sexless Dad, out of retirement, points up the cold air font. The grid of flights, color-coded everything, scrolling banners below: watches, advisories, finally emergencies. Capital's regions buried momentarily. Miss work. Miss Universe. Yellow trucks, salt's lot. We miss a history to deny, shovel. Profane storms pale before miracles & plagues.