Yesterday morning was full of sunshine. We immediately scrapped our plans and went to the park--because at the end of September, every moment of sun here in Seattle is a gift. And this, I thought, might be the Last Day of Sun for the year.
Apparently ten billion other people, mainly families with young children--mainly mothers with young children--were there, and someone had built a huge bonfire. (The crackle and heat of fire outdoors, when it's not night and not cold, made my danger receptors flare; I got over it.)
We found a place to sit in the glittery sunshine, overlooking the beach and sound and began to bask in the slish and whisper of surf, the mewl of a gull, the heated caw-conversations of a bunch of young crows. Then, as though someone had thrown a switch, weather came boiling out of the south.
I opened my eyes, blinked. Here's how the sky looked facing northwest:
Here's how it looked facing southwest:
It was like sitting in the cinema on a warm day: bright and cheery, then the lights dim and the AC flips on, and suddenly it's dark and frigid and the ominous music begins. By the time we got home, the rain was lashing the house and wind gushing through the trees in the ravine. Lovely. We ate lunch and, poof, the sun came out again and the wind died. The whole thing was as good as a play.
Today the world is dark and dim. Definitely autumn.
Annoyingly, in the UK, where I should have been for my birthday--for a variety of reasons we had to postpone our trip until early next year--Yorkshire is baking under record-breaking heat. It's the hottest October since records began: nearly 90°. In Yorkshire. In October.
Weather drama: something the Pacific Northwest and Yorkshire have in common. Also: tea, good beer, and luscious chocolate. What, you thought it was a coincidence we moved here?
