Talking about the weather

mid May - 1


It was so still and quiet when we went to bed last night that you had to whisper.  Not a leaf fluttered out the window, not a ripple on the velvet lake.  Just some lingering golden light and the white glow of May’s three-quarter flower moon.  The stuff of sweet dreams.

“Yet another gorgeous spring day” is the opening line to this morning’s NOAA weather forecast.  I know that only a weather nerd delves into the forecast discussions like I do, but I love the personalities that come through in the writing.   Today’s author must have a musical background, as he/she uses the language and rhythm of the sheet music I see my grandchildren learning to read:

“increasing clouds will be a prelude of things to come”

“an upper level low descends from British Columbia (where Val and family are right now!) and takes up long-term residence across the Pacific Northwest”

“temperatures should refrain from reaching frost or freeze thresholds.”

We all talk about the weather (but there’s nothing you can do about it!) and are given to have the quality of our day determined by whether it’s the day we are looking for or not, if it meets our personal expectations.  Alexandra Harris, in Weatherland, discusses how artists in the fourteenth century refused to portray what weather was in reality, but, instead, illustrated their tapestries and manuscripts they way they wanted it to be.  Despite the brutal cold of the ‘Little Ice Age’, patrons of the arts commissioned indoor scenes, by a roaring fire, to represent the dreadful winter months.  “Artists showed the rightful way of things, as if by force of will they could bring it about,” she writes.

In the warm and comfortable house of my privileged life, if I am mindful enough, there are times when I can release myself from such omniscient control of the weather.   Today, when I stepped outside on the terrace while the coffee brewed, there was that smell of glorious spring to awaken me.  I looked up at the high clouds, in shapes which mimicked  the tree tops below them, as they gently glided over our tall roof.  I searched for any skiff of wind to ripple the top of the water–no, the weathervane was as still as when I went to sleep.  Now the coffee has filled my cup and I’ve started my day–straight to the computer where NOAA tells me, “yet another glorious spring day!”

I’ll be watching for the prelude today–the increasing clouds as the upper level low takes ‘up residence.’  We’re going over to Helena on Friday to watch Anna’s soccer tournament, and, in proof we have no control, the forecast calls for cold, blustery rain.  As is de rigueur in spring soccer, we family spectators will be bundled and huddled under umbrellas along the sidelines, indignant the weather has let us down once again!

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