Flood time

Rain all day here, with more predicted for tonight. Had it been snow we’d be wallowing and plowing through a foot of it. The ground is mostly bare, the woods dark and foggy, and streams are rushing. I was able to spend an hour spading open a ditch to relieve the flow that has led to glaciation of my driveway. It occurred to me more starkly than ever before that I love this weather. And then I felt a stab of guilt. People suffer because of floods – perhaps one shouldn’t enjoy flood time so much. And so I comfort myself, thinking: Everyone is filled with joy when the sun is beaming from blue skies, and thousands are accruing the exposure that will develop into melanomas. Back to lovin’ it. Hope the hill doesn’t slide down on me.

4 responses to this post.

  1. If you like taking outdoor photos, bright sunny weather isn’t so good – there’s much more drama from clouds, snow and ice, inversions, and the like.

    Reply

    • Sir Hugh: Indeed. That the richness of color is heightened by a layer of water is a fact pointed out to me by my grandfather, an amateur painter of local renown.

      Reply

  2. I’d ask you to explain why you are turned on by such liquid weather if I wasn’t perpetually affected by a combination of circumstances forty years ago.

    A street in suburban south-west London curving tightly between identical houses, semi-detached, pebble-dashed frontages, built in the 1930s. All windows closed. Small, equally identical front gardens surrounded by privet hedges, utterly devoid of distinguishing artefacts. The time is mid-morning; it has rained two hours earlier but by now there is only inferred dampness. A low cloud-base creates a silvery-grey backdrop. I am walking alone and do not expect to meet anyone. The silence is tangible, even meaty.

    This is almost a parody of what you would call The Burbs and yet it is as if I’d been magicked into Dreamer’s End, United Kingdom, a middle-class area which has unostentatiously eaten its residents. I feel privileged yet slightly scared to be there; I very much want to be there. It offers the peace of non-being.

    Reply

    • RR: As “we are mostly water” (the title of a photo book I compiled for Christmas for Kayaking pals), it’s probably natural to feel a certain “oneness” when external levels rise. I’m running a humidifier 24/7 in my house, and it’s like a dear little friend. Could drowning be the ultimate form of departure?

      Reply

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