Springtime rains soak up absentee sunshine, atmospheric pressure collides into another unexpected record heatwave. Embracing summer’s clammy cold sweat. The flowers still bloom despite the weather. Salty tears mingle with your smile. The twinkle in your eyes. The way you laugh. Tend to the harvest. Naked truth exposes the heart and the wet indifferent touch of soils dirty despair. A rich loamy decomposition. The flesh is weak. Kill the devil, save yourself. Old souls come out to play in the spring rain with new spirits. It’s the growing season. A wet-dog day, sleeping in the early morning sun. Meanwhile, dreaming about the sun brings forth clouds of joy. To experience the miracle of another beautiful day. Birds fly by, ignoring imaginary borderlines. A line in the sand drawn by the sea crossing the great divide. The crops are in, planted in straight rows. Time to watch and wait for the harvest moon.
The summer solstice marks a boundary, drawn between the countryside and the fast-approaching angry season. It’s hotter than hell here, but for now the chilly question stays unanswered. The scorched earth broiled in the noonday sun. Bacon sizzling on a rusty iron griddle. The greasy fat melting makes a nice accompaniment for early-morning breakfast on any sunny day. Now, back to the weather. You can bet your life on a disaster in progress if the weather has any say. Rules call for proper respect toward nature. Don’t stand in the rain. Not just another fool pissing in the wind. Meanwhile, Tornado Alley is a whirlwind of destruction for brick houses, brittle trees snapping like matchsticks, and flimsy trailer homes alike with impunity. Nothing’s immune from gale force winds. Thrown away like broken toys in the backyard of strange childhood memories. After the storm, it looked like a bomb hit.
The weather has changed its mind, and the mood gets gloomy gray. When will the rain stop falling? It’s nature’s way of saying it is nobody’s fault. Then again, nothing happens without you planted in the equation. We have no roots. No science can explain why this happens to us in the weather. Predictions aren’t always correct. A breaking wind blows your mind. It makes for restless nights. Long tedious days. Always at a loss for words, but that never stopped me. Knowing the elements like a sailor watching the red twilight sky under a lucky star.
The sun ‘s shining somewhere. The way you wear your hat or comb your hair is no consequence in the scheme of predicting the weather. How do flowers grow? Clothes are the costume flowers for cosmetic artifice, the petals of fashionable fads. Artificial flowers have no smell. Some say things never change, like a fresh pair of underwear for every day of the week. The shoe fits, and the show must go on. Return to the garden. Back to nature. Open all the windows.
Clothes make the person, but no one’s always a sharp, snappy dresser. Caught with your pants down. Matching clothes ensembles with weather updates. The waters of life love to get wet. You can fail or succeed entirely on your own clothing choices. It makes you grow. An attractive plant can match your unique personality and fashion sense. It can’t compete on appearances alone. You know what it means to predict the weather. Look outside for clues. How does your garden grow? The green thumb bleeds red. Don’t be a wallflower. Beware thorny thoughts. Clothes are too much for metaphors. The tiny seedlings of imagination take root in the mind. A bittersweet rejoinder for the farmer toiling in the field. Watching the corn grow in neat rows like soldiers standing at attention. During wartime, there was no peace and quiet in the victory gardens. Grow your own food without putting up a fight, as bombs explode like bouquets. The war against the natural order of things.
The battle over the environment is never over. Winning on the battlefield against the wrath of the elements: Any umbrella would help keep you dry, but the gusty thunderstorm showers always turn it inside out. Thunder and lightning aren’t the best way to say pissed off. Nervous energy is bouncing. Electric pulses stimulate growth. Hurricane season mingles with floods and drought. No words can describe devastation that flattens the entire landscape. Yet the world spins, returning to gardens of plenty. A cornucopia of earthly delights. Songs, even poetry! Nothing’s more sacred. Pull the weeds.