Fay
by: Billy Collins
never amounted
to a hurricane,
just a lot of rain
with a girl's name.
There's a joke told by Yoopers (people who grew up and/or live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan): if you don't like the weather, just wait five minutes and it'll change.
Weather is very unreliable at my longitude and latitude. I have seen forecasts go from snow flurries to blizzard warnings in the space of a few hours. I call it the Lake Superior effect. The big lake just has a mind of its own when it comes to atmosphere and temperament.
This afternoon, I was sitting in my office at the library (which is less than half a mile from the shores of Superior), engrossed in editing a podcast and finishing up a report. Even though my desk is right by a window, I hadn't looked outside for a few hours.
Then I heard a sound like a semi-truck landing on the roof, and I looked up. I could barely see across the street through the hail and rain. The sky had gone ashy black, and the wind was tearing away at the trees.
I sat watching the storm until it lost its breath and fury. Confession: I love watching bad weather. Lightning. Gale-force winds. Waves the size of freight cars. Thunder snow. Yoopers love this shit. It's in our DNA. Prick us, and we bleed winter.
Saint Marty still hasn't put his snow shovels away at home. You never know.
Hail Marty Storm
by: Martin Achatz
Did Gabriel's greeting
sound like a million
bullets of ice shredding
the air with God's need
for her young body?
Made me smile
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