Category Archives: Weather

September Sunday sunlight shining through the windows, marks each streak upon the glass. It makes the murk apparent in the view; it webs the air with motes and dries the grass. So what should light my joy invites my eyes … Continue reading →

Damp, the heavy air depresses trees and pushes on my shoulders as I stride. Each molecule seems large enough to squeeze it like a sponge, with fingers modified to make of morning fog a syrup pool, to juggle water traveling … Continue reading →

The sky is mist or fog or overcast but nothing azure radiates today, and nowhere here have vernal clouds amassed so I am blue from breathing under gray. “I love the fog and I don’t miss the sun,” are words … Continue reading →

A seam of spring infiltrates here, and now the princess and magnolia trees invest the light with purple pink and pearl, endow the eyes with bright horizon. Weather-blessed we move this morning in an atmosphere as clean as melting ice, … Continue reading →

I love the sound of rain. I’m happy when I hear it hit above me, see it pock in puddles, watch it wash the streets again. While others talk about their inner clock I sense a fast barometer in me. … Continue reading →

Beherding birds along the way to work, rehearsing words out loud to no one’s ear, bemused I dance a little to the perk of autumn peppering the atmosphere with crisp incursions into trees and dreams, lancets like hummingbirds imbibing sage. … Continue reading →

Already autumn seasons us, with darts of scarlet fallen leaves and crispy air. The nights befall us earlier. It starts to hint of winter brevity. Compare the light at 6 PM to just three weeks ago, and note the recent … Continue reading →

Upon my back upon a lawn I lay beneath a conifer in dappled sun at 3 p.m. one perfect Saturday, entranced. The August month had just begun, embroidered with the shape of solitude and shot with colors leonine and bold. … Continue reading →

It’s difficult to write to any beat except the warming weather. Atmosphere is balm and tonic, throat-caressing, sweet, while groundward furling fronds and flowers spear the air with color, wear the morning dew of March with new erection, natal green. … Continue reading →

The hue of growing oak is not as green as forests are on slopes or in my mind, and my attempt to catch in words the scene is vain as telling color to the blind. But it so fills my … Continue reading →