Personally, I’m all for lovely weather, which is a good thing, because we had a lot of it in February. Despite a storm early in the month that was brisk enough to knock out the power for a few days, most of February looked like someone had spewed a bucket of sun all over everything and thrown some unicorns in on the side just for good measure.
Which is quite nice. Really, it is. But the thing is, I would really rather have been deluged in rain. February is supposed to be a rainy month! It really, really is. Nice, splendid, wet rain to recharge the aquifer and fill the birdbath and make the lawn all soggy and swell the rivers and creeks, nice cold snow to cover the hills in snowpack that will slowly unfurl itself over the hot summer months. A dry winter is an even drier summer.
I love the nice weather, but it needs to stop. And I say that with affection, I really do, I swear. It’s just disturbing to see the state’s weather patterns changing around me — I think back to the Februaries of my childhood, or even a decade ago, and they were very, very different. The plants that grew, when they came up, how much rain we received, ambient temperatures, all different. I think about how, for a new generation, this is what normal looks like.
It makes me feel all tilted and out of place, peculiar and restless inside. The reasons behind the state’s climate shift are complex, and not just related to anthropogenic climate change, though it’s certainly not helping. But for every dry, clear day with the daffodils swaying in a light breeze and the meadow’s grass shifting back and forth in silvery waves, I think of the rain we’re missing, and I worry.
Because this is our life now — and we seem reluctant to acknowledge it.