We have a thing in my household, a new thing of appreciating the weather. See, in my town, it's normal to whinge about the weather because it's notoriously changeable and whatever clothes you put on in the morning, there's a chance they'll be inappropriate by the afternoon. But we decided to love and appreciate our weather, her highs and lows, her brooding moods and abrupt storms and oppressive heat and melting humidity.
We decided our weather is like an opera singer, and that without her emotional extremes, she would lose her essential character and become an emo or a disco floozie or one of those tedious popular bands with nothing to say. As it is, she is dramatic and intense. Yesterday we baked in sunshine and today we drowned in floods. I'm not exaggerating. I sloshed to work today like a car ad, with wings of water fanning out from under my wheels. Amelie liked to run her fingers through a sack of grain (who doesn't?) and I like to slosh through puddles in a car making water wings and a whooshing sound. Also, with the delays and traffic and the general city people thing, I was half an hour late for work and was therefore able to run through my whole choir repertoire in the car. Mozart, Handel, Verdi. Carole King. What gifts the weather brings.
Now I'm sitting in the evening sunshine with a pot of dandy and honey and some exhausted dogs at my feet. There's terrible wear and tear on them in stormy weather because the thunder gods roar and threaten them and they have to run and hide under our feet and in our beds. They are even more responsive to the weather than the humans of the house. And we are responsive. All this rain and sunshine, we will be sprouting and photosynthesising and blossoming and thriving under the hand of our fickle mistress, the weather goddess. Bless her.