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Category: weather

First Snow

First Snow

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This snow meant business right from the start, clinging to grass and trees and leaf piles. I thought, as I walked, how snow cover brings out the essential nature of a thing. A fence looks more fence-like, a flower pot more flower-pot-like.

It this because it’s accented in white? Or because the eye is trained in new directions?  Juncos have swooped in for seed and suet, and even, perhaps for the snow itself, flicking little bits of it as they peck. Are they drinking the snow or just moving it out of the way?

Questions without answers. On snow days, it’s enough just to wonder.

Rose Before Rain

Rose Before Rain

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The rain moves in soon, up to an inch an hour according to some forecasts. I’m glad I snapped shots of the roses earlier today..

These are delicate flowers, especially when fully open. I shudder to think what they’ll look like this time tomorrow.

For now, though, all is still and calm. The sky has eked out a few drops, but the big deluge is still west of here. Time now to take what we have — late rose and rose hips, yard full of weeds, garden past its prime — and savor it. Before the rain falls.

Freshened and Fragrant

Freshened and Fragrant

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Woke up to cooler air this morning, and the return of … aromas. I could smell the grass lush and green as I stepped off the bus and waited to cross 18th Street. I could smell the damp in the puddles that lingered from yesterday’s rain and the perfume of flowers freshened by the dousing.

Great heat drains energy — and, as I’ve been realizing lately, it also drains scent. It leaves a dusty and less olfactorily rich world.

But now, after our recent rain showers, we have fresh air and fragrance — a bountiful combination, a feast for all the senses.

True Freshness

True Freshness

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Can freshness be measured? I’m talking about the cooler air eked from darkness and dawn. It can be, meteorologically speaking. It’s a matter of dew point and temperature and wind speed. But what can’t be measured is the way it feels on the skin first thing in the morning. The way it revives.

How different it is from the chilled air of refrigerated buildings. Not that I’m complaining. It would be difficult to work with 95+-degree heat and high humidity. I mention it only to point out the difference.

True freshness is an acoustic guitar, a handwritten letter. It holds within itself the aroma of cut grass and moist creek banks and the swirling crescendo of countless cicadas singing. It is full spectrum. And on this mid-July morning, I’m reveling in it.

Thunder Boomer

Thunder Boomer

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There are a few advantages (not many!) to posting later in the day. Today, for instance, in a prefect sequel to yesterday’s post, we are about to have a big thunderstorm here. And it feels like a wonderful catharsis.

I think of yesterday’s heat on the pirate ship, and on the Key Bridge, which I decided to walk across there and back. The shrinking boards, the hot breath of the cars, the scant shade, the quickly melting ice cubes in my cup of iced tea.

All of that is about to be blown away by the wind and rain and rumbling.

Not as easy to write about thunderstorms at 8 a.m. as at 4 p.m.

Thunder on!

(Picture of a place that knows great heat.)

Thinking Cool

Thinking Cool

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My body’s set temperature and global warming are trending together well these days.  When the temperature zooms past 90 and the humidity builds, I’m still comfortable. I don’t do as well in air-conditioned buildings. I’m huddled now with one shawl draped around my shoulders and the other spread over my lap.

But … I’m dressed today for an employee cruise outing. Yes, we will be on the Potomac River from 1-4 p.m. on a day when the heat index is expected to be about 105. My heatophilia will be put to the test.

Either we will enjoy ourselves immensely or will be a sodden mess. I’m hoping for ample shade and cool drinks.  But until then, time for some cooling imagery. How about this?

Cloudy

Cloudy

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It is not, as I write this, actually cloudy outside. But it was an hour earlier, when I was walking, and it has been cloudy more than usual this summer.

One thing about the Washington, D.C., weather I’ve always appreciated: It doesn’t mess around with clouds. They are purposeful when they’re here. They quickly disgorge whatever it is they have inside — rain, snow, sleet or hail — then scuttle along to their next destination.

This is the most relentlessly sunny place I’ve ever lived. And though one might sometimes find it tiresome — like a frisky puppy that keeps licking you in the face — I love that about it.

Growing up on the cusp of the Ohio River Valley, I had what I realize was more than average cloudiness. This bummed me out. I remember wishing more than anything that the sun would break through — probably so that I could go outside, slather more baby oil on myself and soak up more harmful UVA and UVB rays.

Now that I think about it, maybe the cloudiness was a gift. Bad for the mood … but better for the skin.

Rainy Day

Rainy Day

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Woke up to a rainy day, to puddles and pings, to the music of water on wood and stone. The house is quiet except for these sounds and the ticking of clocks — two of them now, the cuckoo in the kitchen and the mantel clock in the living room.

Outside, the roses are hanging their heads and the bamboo is shooting up, an inch an hour — or so it seems. New leaves are doused and soothed, not used to such drenching.

Nor am I. It’s been mostly sunny most of the time, which I love and need. But every so often I need a rainy day, too. Time to gather thoughts and clean file cabinets and, oh, just stare out the window for a while, like Copper here.

Listening and looking: good occupations for the day.

Burrowing

Burrowing

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I’d like to say the thunder woke me up, but I was already awake and reading when I heard the first clap. But it did jolt me, and, more to the point, it upset Copper so that he scratched on the door to be comforted.

I escorted him to the basement, his place of safety — though if he only knew how many precariously stacked books and boxes are down there he might seek higher ground.

But burrowing and sheltering have their appeal. I thought about this over the weekend when I draped a comforter over some chairs on the deck to air it out and was immediately reminded of the blanket forts my brother and I made when we were young.

How cozy they were, how beguiling, as if no one would ever find us, as if (it seems to me now), we would never grow up.

Atypical Tuesday

Atypical Tuesday

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On Saturday I saw my first lawn mower of the season and smelled the aroma of freshly cut wild onions. The daffodils are out and so are the iris and myrtle. Only now there are several inches of heavy snow on top of them.

Late work last night and a delayed start this morning have made today different from typical Tuesdays.  It’s a mid-March snow day, and it’s a welcome one. Not because of the snow, but because of the pause. Even a lackluster stoppage is a good one.

Though it may slow some of us down a bit (Copper is wondering if he might finally catch that squirrel), it’s always good to have a break in the routine.