Today I am Writing: On the Instincts of Weather

I checked the weather when I came home today, to see if it might rain.

The sky was cloudy, but I had a pond to finish cleaning, before rainwater has a chance to cover the muck not yet removed and mosquitoes have a chance to hatch their precious offspring.

I saw threat of thunderstorms later with a little timely window, so I pulled on my boots and my gloves and got myself to work.

Then, my friends came, for their piano time. The adult one and I stayed inside for Beethoven, while the child one came bounding in and out, eventually settling down at the table in the yard, all growing legs and limbs.

It was cloudy still, no rain. The wind though...the wind was picking up.

It blew the child one inside when it was her time. We worked on her recital song. I spoke in an entirely-made-up-but-gosh-she-loves-it accent, the whole entire lesson long. (There is no explaining how tiring this can be, unless you have also tried it.)

The adult one sat on the porch, as darkness gathered and tree limbs swept from side to side.

When we were through, were saying good-bye, she said: There's a tornado warning, you know, until 10 o'clock.

I didn't know; I never would have thought.

Mosquitoes are predictable, so are the limbs of the growing girl.
You can plan ahead for this.
But the instincts of weather require we know enough to read the signs.
Life becomes a balance, of these.