The storm has passed leaving a decent amount of snow behind to slowly melt into the parched earth and plant life as the end of this month and (hopefully) the end of the orange-coated nutcase's term in office approaches. Snow load upwards of fifteen tons on the roof just now beginning to slide off to crash on the ground presents a hazard for anyone below it.
Around the world the viral load carried by humanity is still increasing by the second, presenting a hazard for anyone nearby. Too few seem to care, including the orange-coated nutcase still in the White House. Five days to go before we'll know if he'll be expelled at last.
This bit of snow load is about to drop, considerably easing its strain on the roof of my humble home. I seriously doubt expulsion of the orange-coated nutcase will lessen our national viral load burden. His successor will probably lead with little positive effect toward lessening it now that it's already running out of control. This battle is too dependent upon individual responsibility to adhere to expert guidance so few seem much inclined to follow.
Some may think this pandemic is nature's way of achieving equilibrium through reduction and dampening of unsustainable activities of the most destructive species currently inhabiting the surface of the planet. If only the Earth were as sentient as that. Sadly, though, it probably isn't and our headlong rush of planet pillaging won't be slowed by the novel coronavirus. Even if millions more are killed by COVID, it's a drop in the bucket against the remaining 7+ billion still sucking up resources at an ever-increasing rate of overconsumption.
Doomed to self destruct through incessant poisoning of our environment and inevitable starvation, demise of the human race will be much more gruesome than the damage this puny pandemic can ever bring about. Even if it persists for decades or centuries, our greed will not be diminished and we will continue rapidly raping the planet for its limited resources.
We'll be eating one another before long in the greater scheme of time and space. Our insatiable hunger for more than we need will unavoidably shrink our numbers until the final morsel is digested and shat upon the poisoned dirt, and a belch is our final, pitiful utterance.