February sunshine. An intensity of shadows cross-hatched the gray snake road twisting into the Coast Range. After a winter of daylight diffused by cloud cover, the sharp-edged silhouettes of thimbleberry canes, conifers, and bare-branched alders had me flinching a bit. We were in the midst of a midwinter drought. Although the coastal Northwest typically gets a February respite from the incessant rain, this break began earlier and is lasting longer. For a week or so, I enjoyed Sun’s unmasked face. Now I’ve started to squirm. Predicting the weather based on cultural memory has become a quaint relic, a benchmark of what once was. We who prided ourselves on knowing the seasonal cycles and their attendant ebb and flow of birdsong, wildflower bloom, planting, and harvest must now unclench our weary hands and let the new age of climate disruption begin. Our weather has become a shadow of itself.
An Intensity of Shadows
An Intensity of Shadows
An Intensity of Shadows
February sunshine. An intensity of shadows cross-hatched the gray snake road twisting into the Coast Range. After a winter of daylight diffused by cloud cover, the sharp-edged silhouettes of thimbleberry canes, conifers, and bare-branched alders had me flinching a bit. We were in the midst of a midwinter drought. Although the coastal Northwest typically gets a February respite from the incessant rain, this break began earlier and is lasting longer. For a week or so, I enjoyed Sun’s unmasked face. Now I’ve started to squirm. Predicting the weather based on cultural memory has become a quaint relic, a benchmark of what once was. We who prided ourselves on knowing the seasonal cycles and their attendant ebb and flow of birdsong, wildflower bloom, planting, and harvest must now unclench our weary hands and let the new age of climate disruption begin. Our weather has become a shadow of itself.