Weather

Living in the countryside, you become a weather watcher.  Especially by the coast.  Not just for planning journeys or what coat to wear, but because the weather is fascinating and large.  People don’t use brollies in the countryside.  Proper weather, proper clothing.  The kind of clothes that dream of getting windblown and wet.  Sleek-hooded clothes, that keep you dry and warm. 

Big sky views give big weather shapes and colours; steely blues with pure white clouds above.  The bands of rain below in Oxford blues, white when it snows.  So beautiful, the heart swells.  How the seabirds change their flight patterns with the wind force and direction.  Excitement in the air.  The waves crest and break, chanting it out like football fans.  ‘Come on you clou-ouds’.  Tension of a penalty shoot-out, screaming astonished release of ‘Scooooore!’ as they punch air, breaching the seawall.

A certain form of knowing happens by osmosis.  A kenning.  There comes a day when you look at a dark cloud out at sea and realise there are ten minutes to get home.  So, you head home, and the rain starts just as you close the front door behind you.  There is a particular kind of satisfaction in it.  Not as mean as ‘smug’ satisfaction, but up there with catching something before it falls to the floor and breaks.  Howzat!  At one with the Universe.

The weather changed today, from warm golden sunshine to steel-blue rain.  The trees smelled grateful.  Yesterday, the washing dried outside; it smells wonderful too.  Decided to stay home and potter.  Boxed up the first books for webuybooks.com.  What a rip-off that is, and a sad reflection on today’s society.  ‘Why Men Love Bitches’ worth £1.15, ‘Selected Letters of Virginia Woolf’, 15p. 

Ironically, some of Virginia Woolf’s letters actually were a bit bitchy.

Images for this journal have been posted on Insta @purplehaze_journals