Part of the contract one makes with God when they live in Vermont, a hundred miles from the ocean, is we’re not supposed to worry about hurricanes, and yet, our weather is changing, making plans pinning a little red pinwheel of despair to the map and twirling it this way. The town where I live rests in what meteorologists are calling the “cone of uncertainty.” I’ve never heard this phrase before, but it feels so true. , I think,
