Thunderhead

A great, blue-gray cloud has just swept in from the south. It came, speaking in a low, calm, loud voice the way an ent speaks; it said "I bring rain." And so it has. The cloud came suddenly, after a long, hot morning and afternoon, which I am pretty sure gave me a mild burn. The light was blinding, even wearing my odd, green-rimmed shades while reading. It was blinding the way heat is blinding, with a gradual press of exhaustion and discomfort--at least when one is immobile--and it eventually got to me. It had that subtle touch of both mild but generous pleasure and vain anger; that is, it shouted, "Look at me!" Vanity, it seems, has been replaced by stolid bulk.

I recently spoke with a co-worker about the weather; or rather, the effects of the weather. In a conversation, the weather is that first or last ground upon which one might stand in order to engage someone. The weather, I suppose, is always there and it is always doing something. That is more than I can say for some people. As for ideas, well, they remain present but can feel pretty inert when they aren't buzzing with personable energy around you via application. I was thinking of the weather because its dreariness at the time was a refreshing and abrupt change from the cool but uncommitted weather that had preceded it. Then, with a chill rain, I felt suddenly recuperated and calmed, forced into feeling unhurried by the new situation.

Talking of weather is more than just talking of what's in the sky. Moods, activity, dispositions, motivations all fluctuate in an odd harmony with the weather for most people. I suppose an exception would be pasty-skinned techies and cellar dwellers, but at least saturated skies and soils mean they cannot be bothered to do yard work. No, even the extremely vitamin d deficient must experience some turn with climatic variance. As someone who bikes everywhere, the impact of weather is intense. In each new incarnation, the weather feels novel, like a new chapter has made it into the world, and no one knows exactly what it will bring.

Weather prediction is one of those mysterious crafts that remains partial to superstition. The systems at play in climate and weather are just about everything. I once read that it rains more on weekends because the exhaust from weekday commutes forces moisture and cloud cover upward, but with the reprieve of the weekend, the skies relax and precipitate. Or, for example, the amount of solar-absorbing cement and asphalt creates urban hotspots. Now, keep in mind that usual ecosystems have multi-tiered climates, separated into microclimates like those above wooded spaces or grasslands, or those above trees and those below, or pasture and farmland and town spaces; each manifests its climate in its own peculiar way, interlocking and interfacing in innumerable ways to make the whole endeavor a guessing game.

I suppose we can say the same for the social sciences and individual human actions. We can use charts and graphs and statistics to say that so many people will run red lights, this or that many medical professionals will inadequately wash their hands, how many cigarettes will be smoked and how many butts will litter the sidewalk, that this many people will graduate from high school or college, or that so many people will die over a given time span. These we can predict with some accuracy--though large events are often poorly predicted and their impacts misunderstood. But when we get on the level of a life, we cannot use the social sciences to say very much about the choices of one person; and when that one person knows she is the subject of scrutiny, then those actions will change again. Even a given action by a given person will be different under different circumstances: A young man might lift twenty bucks from his father, but would deny himself the opportunity to pickpocket as much from an unwary stranger at a transit station.

Do you think the same boy would lay claim to the money in foul weather as in sunny? Perhaps in fine weather, he and his friends go strolling and cruising and maybe find a party to crash--all in all an essentially free evening of fun. In rain, though, his comrades are usually forced inside to malls or restaurants or shops, where the money would be of more use. I doubt very much that the boy would steal from family for savings purposes, after all. What I suppose here is that talking about weather is not as quotidian and dry as is often portrayed. At least, it does not have to be. The weather has a recognizable mystique to it, a mystery that in the process of divining, we may learn the method for understanding one another better, at reading the secret signs of our loved ones and strangers on the street. School courses were often taught so as to teach critical thinking skills, not to learn specific facts; perhaps the method to the climate conversation is of the same vein as the interpersonal conversations we have with those with whom we are slightly more acquainted. They share something worthwhile, and if we pay attention, we can pick up a thing or two.