So I’ve just witnessed the storm that precedes the end of days. Of course, I’m still typing, so perhaps it was nothing more than the dress rehearsal of doom. The skies just dumped (in a horizontal way) clumps of ice, buckets of rain, and the kind of wind that causes you to look outside to see if anyone is flapping like a flag as they cling to lamp posts for dear life. All this lasted about ten minutes and WOW what a ten minutes it was. I stepped out onto the mostly enclosed balcony and felt the hail crunch beneath my slippers. The storm was brief and awesome.
Mind you, it’s the middle of January and my area of England has not yet seen snow. We’ve had a couple of brief hissyfits from the clouds (like the one today) but no snow. At least when there’s snow, there is a psychological feeling of winter (more importantly, of winter passing), not just an unbelievably long period of dreary, wet, bone-chilling misery. This pseudo-winter offers no reference points- no shiny, white, sunny days to offset the gloom. The only thing more depressing than a normal winter is a winter that is indistinguishable from the autumn and early spring. Yeehaw! We’ve had a three month long rainy day!
Seasonal affective disorder? Yeah. Probably a bit.
Ah, so before I wrap the post, here’s a photo I took just a few minutes ago. The storm was passing, it was raining behind me (the sun was at my back) and the skies clearing.
Perhaps I have complained away the storm. I can be mighty like that.