The last breath of winter is here. The wicked claws of cold wind extend to the jaunty clouds – intimidating with their movement and water. The trees are green with confusion – twirling the leaves back in; but it is too late – everything is set to attract birds, moths, butterflies. The bloom of closed buds is only a sunshine away and everything is turning to gray, again. A chilled, musky smell wraps around everywhere. Nature has turned back on its own investment of color and effort.
A frown rolls on my face as I pull out my hiding jacket. Eying my sandals, I and push my feet into heeled boots and a curse slips. Outside, the rain has worsened. It is darker, cooler and blinding. Perhaps the last time – I whisper under my breath.
The roads are slippery like my mood. Thunder and lightning are distracting. It feels as if muddy water is thrown over a beautiful painting and its colors are evaporating in the whirlpool of rowdy, livid wind. It is interesting to see how the weather affects the lunch mood, the appointments, the prodigal characteristics of humans and animals and even road rage. Messy traffic stalls roll on the expressway and the speed sign of 65 mph grins as I pass by.
The heating inside the office has resumed after a week of running the air conditioner. Though once in the building, it is immaterial what happens outside. I usually catch a glimpse of the luminous outdoors when I make my way to the break room where long windows are walled to the highway otherwise I am holed in my cocoon of pastel walls and colorless carpet, punching codes and transpiring technology. Today, the outside mirrors the inside – it is stale gray with a tint of red brake lights.
I hear the temperatures are rising over the weekend. Perhaps, all the plants I had to move in last night could stay outdoors now. Maybe the coats, the mittens, the scarves, the boots will peacefully go into hibernation and summer dresses will flutter along with colorful butterflies. Painted toenails will peep from sandals.Who knows? Mother nature can be a drama queen at times; making you realize how insignificant your (in)conveniences are and the bigger picture is something, you are not supposed to get.
In the evening, I sit next to the fireplace, holding out my palms and heels for warmth. The cold rain has ceased but the mercury is glued to the bottom. The heater grunts in the background. I stare at the tube and they are showing the weather for next five days – no sign of cold front but I know from experience of being a pilot and otherwise that weather cannot be predicted, ever. It is always best to look outside and confirm; only then it is safe to sail your ship else you are better off, grounded.
I pick up a book to read to get off the nagging, cold feeling in my bones. It’s called prodigal summer. Oh well!