weathered

shoulders to the rain

Last night a thunderstorm rolled over my home. A flash of light came through my curtains, and a rousing rumble and bang followed. I could hear the rain start up after that. I like the way we do thunderstorms here, the way there's a silence, a hush, before the rain comes. I sat out a thunderstorm on a camping trip at Nicola Lake once, and it was completely different. The same spectacular light show, and all the crashing and banging you could ask for, but instead of the dousing, there was a hot wind that threatened to lift up our tent, and then a slight spattering of fat drops of rain, and that was it. Very different.

But it's still raining almost 24 hours later, and it's cold too, around 3°C. I think I could go for a hot wind about now. It's raining big fat drops that occasionally look whitish, like sleet. I don't know where our spring went. My sister phoned me a half-hour ago to ask if it was snowing where I am. She's in a neighbourhood at a slightly higher elevation, and was looking out at big fat flakes, which I'm glad to say she reports have reverted to rain. Rain! What a surprise here on the soggy west coast.

their day will come again

It's amazing, really, how much the weather affects my moods, and how little I've managed to get used to it, after all my years knowing that this is what it does in Vancouver. Rain. I'm right back to my February-mood, gazing out at solidly grey and gloomy skies, dreaming about blue skies. But it's true, the dafs give me hope, even though some are sagging under the downpour. It will happen, I will get to toss my socks, and wear flipflops again. I know I will. Just not this week.