They say death and taxes are the only certainties in this life but those of us living in Midwestern America know that our capricious weather is right there with them. Only yesterday it already felt like summer in early April but now the ground is dusted in snow. The sudden snow must have led to accidents if the undying sirens sounding during my morning coffee could be taken as a clue. But in this neighborhood sirens are an eternal nuisance and could be for anything. Most of us don't notice them anymore and if they were ringing the alarm for the end of times, well, we'd end with the times.

I still notice them sometimes. My ex husband is a firefighter and my heart used to race at every boop and beep. That feeling has faded but not disappeared. Still, it seems I am able to sleep through the end of times with the rest of my neighbors. But not my Sarah. Already she is outside playing in the snow and without a jacket. I'll never understand how a girl whose father runs into burning buildings can withstand the cold. Better take her coat so she doesn't freeze to death.

It's the oddest thing walking out the door. The weather hasn't changed at all but the snow is still there. Perhaps overnight was freezing and now the weather has rebounded. But still that doesn't explain the dust I've realized is clinging to the air. Walking to Sarah, who is preoccupied with this strange dusting, it feels more like a beach beneath my shoes than a winter wonderland. And the color is more a light grey than white.

This is like a vivid dream. I call out to my Sarah, "What are you doing honey?"

She looks back to me with her face and hands blackened, a confused look upon her face, "I'm playing with Daddy."

It isn't snow. Those sirens, this ash, that dust. The end of times came or something close enough. And I slept through it.