The weather website for my town and county is calling for "isolated showers" later today and tomorrow. I'm putting in my request right now to be ignored. It's not that my front yard wouldn't love it, but the lake winds are so strong right now (37-54km or 23-45mph) that the waves and spray hitting my back yard are towering over my breakwall even higher than the ones I posted a week or so ago. There's about a one second delay between the peak of the spray and the sound of it hitting my back windows. Sometimes it sounds like rice being thrown, sometimes it's like someone trained a hose on the glass! The drainage is getting a bit overwhelmed, and I'm hoping I don't get any problems like my neighbor has - remember the warped breakwall and the sink hole? He hasn't even had time to fill it in yet, so who knows what will happen over there.
Anyway, it's a helpless feeling, having storms of any kind. I heard there's tornado activity in Ohio right now (we could get it too) and the wind-fanned fires are back in California as well. Wish I could send them some of this! We sure don't need any rain on the lake side, but at least it isn't life-threatening. But we all just have to wait it out. And then, if you're me, go out after with a kitchen-catcher bag and a pair of BBQ tongs and pick up all the yucky plastic flotsam that's been carried over onto the lawn.
These photos are blurry because I shot them through the window, because of all the spray flying around. Then I thought I might open the door and try to get a quick shot between waves, but the wind was blowing so hard, I couldn't push the door open!! There birds have forsaken the feeders. The only one who doesn't seem to mind is the mallard, still scarfing seed under the red maple tree, with the water rolling off his back like, well...
The Cloud Messenger (Meghadūta) is a lyric poem by the respected Indian poet, Kālidāsa. The poem centers around a yaksa in exile. Longing for his beloved, waiting for him on a Himalayan mountain, he asks a cloud to take a message to her. The sights he tells the cloud it will see on its way make up most of the poem.
The idea of recording observations appeals to me. I thought The Cloud Messenger was the perfect title for a blog about the journey that we all make as we move through our days.
I'm a baby boomer who grew up dancing in the streets of Detroit during the classic Motown years, lived beside the Rocky Mountains for many years, now retired and living (and writing full time) in S. Ontario. I have one blog for rock 'n' roll oldies, and one for nature, poetry and life along the Lake.