Wind howls through the broken window, its mournful cry lamenting the betrayal of the centuries-old agreement . Whipping and shrieking and growling its displeasure like a wounded animal or a woman scorned, while the window rattles in no particular cadence. Cheap, plastic blinds sway gently refusing to be undone by the unwelcome intrusion. Let loose from the confines of the bottle, there is no coaxing the genie back. Snow teases the grass and reeds by the pond with just a hint of what is desired in avalanches. It is a cruel trick. In three days time it will be fifty degrees. The regret runs deep.