No, I'm not a descendant of Merlin. I have no degree in meteorology--a word, by the way, that I thought (in boyhood) ought to mean the study of meteors.
But I do know precisely when the storm will strike today: It will happen at 10:45 this morning, the second I step out the door to go to my 11 a.m. eye appointment.
At that moment, Thor will awaken; thunder will roar; lightning will flare about like ... well, like flares of lightning. (Perhaps a bolt will strike me--not a bad way to go, is it?)
I know this because of experience. (One need not say "previous experience," you know--what other kind of experience is there?)
Through all my many years the weather has waited for me to want to do something--or to have to do something--before it has unleashed its dark minions. The other day I mentioned on this site how a storm struck recently the moment I stepped out of our car to pick up my bicycle, at the shop where I'd taken it for its spring adjustments. I said the other day that the wind nearly blew me back into the car. And so it did.
Outside my window right now, the magnolia blossoms are anticipating the wind: Pink petals are falling, drifting, decorating the ground, preparing the way ...
I know that it's somewhat egocentric to think that natural (or other) events occur (or don't) because of us. I know someone, for example, who won't watch Cavs' playoff games because he believes--knows--they will lose if he does so.
Superstition continues to rule us in subtle ways at times. And not-so-subtle ways in others.
So, sure, the storm might not arrive the moment I step out of the house. It could wait until I step out of the car at the optometrist's ... or until I step outside afterward ... or ... whenever it thinks I would be most inconvenienced and annoyed.
UPDATE: It began to rain when I left the house, and when I left the optometrist’s, the skies opened, and all the rain that ever was fell on my head!
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