Creedence Clearwater asked who’ll stop the rain, several decades ago. I’ve never heard the answer to that question, but I sure wish I knew. Somebody needs to step up and stop this nonsense of constant precipitation.
The problem is, the weather has been squirrely the last few years. Some people attribute that to global warming, which I suppose may or may not be the case. I can encapsulate my feelings on the matter succinctly: Mother Nature is off her meds.
Old Ma Nature doesn’t know how to do anything in moderation anymore. Take rainfall, for example. Most people consider it to be beneficial, at least in reasonable amounts. The rain we get in the Joe Zone is no longer reasonable. I remember when, in the weather forecast, the word “rain” wasn’t always preceded by “heavy,” “flooding,” or “Biblical.” I think this is partly due to the “Whether-casters” (they don’t know whether it’s going to do this or do that) being melodramatic to boost ratings, but weather psychosis is definitely on the rise.
Rainfall used to make the spring flowers grow; now it washes them over a hill in a landslide, into a creek that feeds a raging river. They emerge in the Gulf of Mexico half an hour later. I suspect the Gulf looks like a gigantic flower bed, with everything from posies to petunias floating around. At least they help hide the oil spills.
The default meteorological condition around these parts has become precipitation. Unless Mother Nature has a specific reason for sunshine, you can assume it’s raining. The radar screen has a permanent green blob centered on my house. Once a front passes the area, the rain shield extends fingers backward to give an extra dose of sogginess to my vicinity. I sometimes wonder if Al Capp’s Joe Btfsplk has moved in down the street.
My yard has become an extension of the Okefenokee Swamp. The Joe Zone cats like to watch from the window for bubbles breaking the surface, indicating where the robins are snorkeling. If the rain stopped long enough for sunshine to break out, I could toss in some tea bags and make a gigantic cup of Earl Grey.
For those of you saying there’s nothing to be gained by being cranky at the weather, you’re absolutely right. So, let’s wax poetic:
Ma Nature’s a surly old lass,
I wish her hissy fit would pass.
If you hypnotize her,
Then I’ll tranquilize her,
And maybe she’ll act with some class.