I’ve been complaining a lot about the weather, but, to be fair, the weather sucks and deserves every nasty comment it gets. My neck of the woods has had torrential downpours, sprinkles, and anything and everything in between the extremes. Several areas have suffered microbursts, which are like mini-tornadoes.
Naturally on the one and only day that it is supposed to be nice, I meet my sister in southern Maine, and together we drive on an errand north of Portland. This is going to be great! The sun is mostly out, windows are open, and all systems seem to point toward a successful summer day.
Until, of course, it’s not a successful summer day.
First, there are the clouds. It’s not sunny anymore. Then, there are the temperature changes –
hot, chilly, steamy, breezy, flopping from temperature to temperature like
menopause. The clouds let loose some sprinkles, too, but not enough for steady
windshield wipers; just enough to be annoying and cloud driving vision.
Speaking of clouds, the coast here is suddenly a fog bank.
We watch as a tall communication tower is slowly and completely embraced in
gray. It’s a horrible day along the coast, we decide, until we go a few miles
south where the sky is bright blue and the ocean matches.
Parts of New England need rain badly. Parts of the country are suffering from historical drought. Here in my neighborhood, we can kayak on the sidewalks because we are under a constant threat of flash flooding. It’s like spring here all the time. Even the “sunny” days turn overcast.
It’s dreary and it’s weary. After being forced to stay inside
or masked or sequestered alone for the last sixteen months, this summer’s
weather stinks. We might as well be done with it and bring on the snow. But,
then again, what would I complain about if the weather finally cooperated?
Knowing me, I’d find something, but it wouldn’t be as easy a mark as is the
weather.
Just a full day of sun or two dry days in a row would be a
gift, though. I’m just saying.
