A discourse with weather in the late afternoon yesterday.  It was unpleasant for the vegetables.  Today they have rallied.  But I was left to wonder at the Godless expressions I have used to describe rain.  And the Godless expressions I have used to describe the absence of rain.

    I have always considered my epithets a confluence without importance.  It is neither still nor small, even though I understand it as belonging to wilderness.  A better description would include images of bumble bees bumping into screen doors, moths around the bathroom light bulb, spiders in the kitchen sink, or, forgive me, the wife with a fly swatter.  For this reason I am unable to believe that rain has taken my current opinion of it personally.

    But yesterday I wondered.  It came with a fanfare from the weather radio.  It ripped through the leaves in a most spiteful way.  It turned the potato patch into a swamp.  Caused ruts in the gravel drive.  It challenged for a moment the foundation of comfortableness with those images of devastation we all have seen.  

    The Earth and its weather, like all material things, is tyrannical.  I saw struggle and felt for a moment the bitterness of serfdom.  I found myself on the edge of an apology.  Something only those who think they matter feel the need to do.

   Fortunately I kept my dignity, otherwise today I might feel foolish.

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