Small in a Storm
It's snowing in Boston, and we are small.
The weather is infinitely grander than us. We prepare for it and cope. We buy bottled water, charge backup batteries, shovel our walks only for them to be covered again before we get back in the door. All our technology is smaller than the little pieces of water clouding the air. We live in a fundamentally technological way; that's the greatest human adaptation. And the whole thing grinds to the halt for the weather, that most normal thing, the thing so mundane is the stereotype of small talk. We are tiny. We were tiny all along.
I kinda like it.
(We are also so big that we do change the weather, in ways that are already becoming catastrophic in some places. We're big enough to make a difference but not big enough to steer it. In that regard, I wish we were smaller.)