Why don’t they tell the real weather forecast? Give us the true measure; not inches and degrees, gale force and wind speed?
Why don’t they tell us if rainbows will shine? How sad the wind will howl. If we’ll see seagulls wheeling, clouds scudding, or resting pink and gold on billows of baby blue. Why don’t they say, will the sea still ripple celery green, or whirl wild cappuccino waves. What colour the horizon will show – silver or Jesuit-grey. When will the daisies close their petals. How long before the dew-drops dry, and the grass returns from gold to green?
When will the weather-women, all these weather-men, stop squeezing nature into numbers? Where is the grandeur, the fear and finesse? Why dry out all the flavour? Or, perhaps, it’s much more simple. Are they, after all,just telling us tales of too-familiar truths?
Dry and warm.
Cool at first.
We just might
Gerry Murphy and
Thanks to J. Kirschbaum for colours