A discourse with weather in the late afternoon
yesterday. It was unpleasant for the vegetables. Today they
have rallied. But I was left to wonder at the Godless expressions I
have used to describe rain. And the Godless expressions I have used
to describe the absence of rain.
I have always considered my epithets a confluence
without importance. It is neither still nor small, even though I
understand it as belonging to wilderness. A better description would
include images of bumble bees bumping into screen doors, moths around the
bathroom light bulb, spiders in the kitchen sink, or, forgive me, the wife with a fly
swatter. For this reason I am unable to believe that rain has taken
my current opinion of it personally.
But yesterday I wondered. It came with a fanfare
from the weather radio. It ripped through the leaves in a most
spiteful way. It turned the potato patch into a swamp. Caused
ruts in the gravel drive. It challenged for a moment the foundation of
comfortableness with those images of devastation we all have
The Earth and its weather, like all material things,
is tyrannical. I saw struggle and felt for a moment the bitterness of serfdom.
I found myself on the edge of an apology. Something only those who
think they matter feel the need to do.
Fortunately I kept my dignity, otherwise today I might feel