The sky and I are having a standoff. It's become a little tradition; we do this every spring. The snow melts, the weather gets warmer, the clouds bunch up, grey and heavy, over my house and just hang there, the forecast calls for rain...
And then nothing happens. The sky holds its breath.
For days, and then weeks, and then months. The forecast keeps changing at the last minute. Promising me bad weather and then dumping it all on the west coast instead. I sit by the window waiting for my rainstorm, the kind that brings huge, crashy thunder and sheet lightning with no pauses. In this week's forecast, as it was when I checked it two days ago, there were two lightning storms lined up. I just checked it again and the storms are gone. The weather people are like, "It's just beautiful out there! Everyone's really happy about it!" And I'm like, "Bite me, weather people. You don't know."
Suddenly, I find that I'm holding my breath too.
Not my actual breath, of course. I can only do that for about (exactly) forty seconds (I just timed myself).
It's the same sensation though, just further inside. Something indefinable that gets tightly wound up and can't release, building up like the water in those incompetent clouds. We're both holding our breath, the sky and I, and we're both stubborn about it.
I talk about it constantly.
My friends say, "Hi, Suzy."
And I say, "It still hasn't rained."
And my friends say, "Oh, yeah, isn't it nice out?"
And I say, "No."
And I push them over.
I push all of my friends over.
And I stand on the street corner and rend my garments and yell, "RAIN, YOU STUPID CLOUDS! BRING THUNDER AND LIGHTNING AND BLOW ALL OF THE TREES DOWN!"
And I run down the street and around a corner and off a cliff and no one ever sees me again.
That's how I feel about it.
I will not feel better until it rains.
And then nothing happens. The sky holds its breath.
For days, and then weeks, and then months. The forecast keeps changing at the last minute. Promising me bad weather and then dumping it all on the west coast instead. I sit by the window waiting for my rainstorm, the kind that brings huge, crashy thunder and sheet lightning with no pauses. In this week's forecast, as it was when I checked it two days ago, there were two lightning storms lined up. I just checked it again and the storms are gone. The weather people are like, "It's just beautiful out there! Everyone's really happy about it!" And I'm like, "Bite me, weather people. You don't know."
Suddenly, I find that I'm holding my breath too.
Not my actual breath, of course. I can only do that for about (exactly) forty seconds (I just timed myself).
It's the same sensation though, just further inside. Something indefinable that gets tightly wound up and can't release, building up like the water in those incompetent clouds. We're both holding our breath, the sky and I, and we're both stubborn about it.
I talk about it constantly.
My friends say, "Hi, Suzy."
And I say, "It still hasn't rained."
And my friends say, "Oh, yeah, isn't it nice out?"
And I say, "No."
And I push them over.
I push all of my friends over.
And I stand on the street corner and rend my garments and yell, "RAIN, YOU STUPID CLOUDS! BRING THUNDER AND LIGHTNING AND BLOW ALL OF THE TREES DOWN!"
And I run down the street and around a corner and off a cliff and no one ever sees me again.
That's how I feel about it.
I will not feel better until it rains.
2 comments:
So, I doubt you knew this about me, but I lived in Ontario, Canada up until January 2011 when I moved to Las Vegas. As such, I'm used to rain and epic thunderstorms. There's something actually therapeutic about them both. It doesn't do much of either out here in Vegas, but when it does, OH WHEN IT DOES, I feel transported right back to Canada, and just can't help but feel oh so happy with each droplet and every crack of thunder.
well, it's raining here. and it was supposed to be sunny and 33 degrees. and it's my birthday. maybe I should hold my breath too :)
Post a Comment