It’s the middle of winter, the end of January, but my weather station tells me the temperature is 67 F and it’s thunder storming. I don’t want to look out the window, any window. I know what is out there. The prompt wants me to look out a window for full minute.
Looking out any of my windows, I see the same thing. It’s storming. The sky is blanketed with a monochrome of grey upon grey. There is no rain upon the window pane as the three-foot eves keep the weather away from the house walls. A puddle forming in the neighbor’s rear yard reports a penetrating rain that has found its way into his basement. I wonder about my own basement; I am afraid to look.
Lightning flashes nearby, forcing me back a step. The shagbark trees in our rear yard are lightning magnets. They’ve been struck a few times since we arrived. When the thunder rolls into the distance, I move back the blinds and take another look. The wind is blowing the rain sideways. There is a twelve-foot branch laying near our fence in another neighbor’s yard. One minute is a long time with wind, hail, and lightning happing just a few feet away. I am happy when the time is up, but take a few seconds longer to notice the wind has ripped the cover off the grill again.
It’s the middle of winter. I should be seeing snow. But, I see a fall landscape with spring weather. Maybe, only a maybe, Global-warming is not a lie; maybe it is a natural cycle of the earth or maybe there is a scientific explanation that I am just not hearing. It’s winter and it’s 67 degrees.