Our weather this morning is loco: freakishly warm, humid as all get out, wind slinging sideways, gusting up to thirty-and-change miles/hour, (which is at least keeping the mid-winter mosquitoes away), strong enough that Pearl, who was keeping me company on the balcony, got wigged out and skedaddled inside. The willow tree is an excellent wind indicator (windicator?), it's wispy branches indicating the strength and direction of each gust, and right now they're all straight horizontal pointing due north. (The large knocked over potted plant is another — though blunter — windicator: it tells me the wind is strong.)
I queried the omniscient digital weather oracle (my weather app), and it informed me, not surprisingly, that the current freakishness is a portent of change; which is to say, weather-wise, it's about to go down; literally. The radar shows an angry red-orange-yellow gash moving eastward towards us, bringing thumping rains, then dropping the temperature about twenty degrees.
I'll enjoy the warmth, humid and freakish though it may be, for the brief while it lasts.
1 Maybe I can get a job as a weather man on the local news, but instead of standing in front of a map talking fast and making weird hand gestures, I'll just sit there and blather on like this. Yeah, maybe.