Changing seasons went unnoticed before. They were simply the overlapping moodswings of something I had no control over. Trees remained green, except sometimes they thoughtfully came with flowers. The wind blew hot and cold, you walked against it either way. Sunglasses seemed excessive, sunscreen pointless. Umbrella worked for all seasons, if you were an umbrellaic sort of person. Temperatures, did they matter so much?
Thunder showers, fierce lightning, rivulets to cross all the way everywhere-- yes, you noticed monsoon. The next morning, the flood outside your house is greyer, a green sprite bottle is bobbing helplessly. The TV's out, and so is the phone. Play boardgames. Read. Light candles. Sleep. You will finish the last chapter the next day. Morning comes, the flood is gone. Sunny day. Work day. You never find out how the book ends. You didn't know what would come tomorrow.
Will it be less hot tomorrow? I never asked the question because I could never know the answer. I hope it's less hot tomorrow, I said. Shush, don't say the summer's over, you'll jinx it, he said. Yuck dust, you said, washing your face. We should take jackets just in case, they said.
The unnoticed acknowledgment of lack of control. The theories of obnoxious rain clouds that decide to shower on your white-shirt day. Of accomplice clouds when Australia is beating India. Of solid rain with personality that ruins or makes your best date ever.
Ah, the sheer wonderfulness of new plans hatched because the weathergods woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
2 comments:
A friend of mine remarked the other day - "You know, I think the future is not going to be as futuristic as we thought. Where are the flying cars, and teleportation. And we still have weather!"
Kraz.
The Flu almost always ensures that I notice changing seasons. And this kind of ruins the whole thing for me. But that said, the sentiment is lovely!
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