I've always hated rainy weather yet that disdain is completely tempered during the summertime. I find a tempestuous and violent summer storm completely enthralling. Tis the season here on the Eastern front and the past few weeks have brought those unpredictable and unsettled air masses that result in the uprising of severe weather. It can be sunny and humid and then suddenly, sometimes without warning, the sky can darken, the wind whips up and you're simply waiting for the symbolic clap of thunder to signal a prolific down pouring of rain. There's drama in this show of force from Mother Nature.
Once the storm decides to descend, it's angry and vindictive. Sheets of pelting rain slam down and the street gutters run like babbling brooks. The sky illuminates and damning claps of thunder follow. It's exhilarating.
A breeze brushes over you. The rain shimmies at the whim of the breeze. The sky seems enormous and dark. And all of a sudden, you feel really rather small in the scheme of this grand orchestration.
Perhaps I'm forgiving of these summertime elements because I once was caught in a summer storm with someone I was deeply fond of. We'd not yet made declarations of love to one another--we were still in that sweet "Aw, shucks" phase. Once the storm broke, we ran for cover and ended up in a phone booth (if you're young enough, you'll remember things like phone booths existed). And there, while we waited for a violent summer storm to pass, we indulged in some rather passionate necking which beget the emotions we really felt for one another. It was a noteworthy moment and undoubtedly contributed to my affection for this seasonal weather. It's a shame the man was not as consistent as the summertime weather.
This morning I met up with Hollaback for brunch and some long overdue girl talk. The sun was high and it was humid. It was the kind of hot day that Jewels would describe as worthy of wearing a T-shirt and a jockstrap. Only. After I left Hollaback, I went to the Upper West Side to get my hair blown out. The second I left the salon, of course a violent summer storm broke. Thanks to my $5.99 umbrella from Duane Reade and a plastic bag from The Westside Market, I preserved my $52.00 blowout.
Funny how priorities change.
1 comment:
As a native Californian, I experienced my share of quakes. Okay, so the Northridge quake kind of squelched my enthusiasm for them. However, living in Georgia now, I get into the weather. I like when the sky looks like a U-Haul backed up a bumper crop of storm clouds. I like when the pines are having a "rave" (away from the house and the deck, of course) out across the creek. I get a little giddy when thunder rumbles over the side yard like Morris Brown's drum line. I watch for turkey, rabbit and deer scramble for some place to be like down town commuters heading out ahead of the traffic on a three day weekend.....sounds like I need a hobby.
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