What They Call For
My old boss used to laugh when I described forecasts as "they want it" instead of "they're calling for" I shrugged. That's how we talked about weather in my part of Pennsylvania. We assumed the weathermen wanted to be correct, I suppose.
That photo is from yesterday, of a mile walk taken with friends out to a lake and back. It felt sublime. A perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon. The dogs romped and swam in the lake and the us people talked about people things (mostly hunting). It was wonderful, but like I said, felt a little odd. I am more comfortable tucked into layers of sweaters and canvas in November than taking a walk in a t-shirt. These Days of Grace are really leaning in hard, teasing us. I have a hunch this winter is going to be a tough one. I think this is just the calm before the snowstorms. In four weeks there will be frozen water troughs in hand-deep mud and a snowblower puttering past the front drive. That's my fine guess, anyway.
Though I'm not sure basing weather predictions on Mother Nature's subterfuge is an accurate model for forecast—it is what I want. Good enough for the great commonwealth of Pennsylvania is good enough for me.