Driving down the road in the morning, I see the sun poking through gaps in the dark evergreens along the river and I think about that old expression, red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.
There is another storm coming, flurries, rain, wind. That red alert band, as red as the warning sky, is back on top of the weather website.
I know this because I’ve become increasingly devoted to the weather forecasts as winter, my first full winter in Canada in 11 years, deepens into the potential misery of February. I’ve changed plans to avoid the possibility of flurries. I’ve added layers when the numbers after the minus sign on the thermometer get bigger.
Weather is our great unifier, the conversation starter at the gas station, the lingering promise of destruction that doesn’t care about the institutions we’ve built. I didn’t bother with weather forecasts for nearly a decade. In Ghana, it rained in the rainy season and didn’t the rest of the time, and even if it was going to rain, the sky was the only weather forecast we needed. The morning wouldn’t start as red but as overcast, grey turning darker as the storm approached. When there was enough rain, and it didn’t take much, Accra would flood, streets overrun with garbage, water flooding peoples’ homes. The disasters arrived with such predictable regularity that any forecast felt irrelevant.
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In South Africa, from the seventh floor of my office I’d watch the storm roll over the highveld and into Johannesburg, pelting the city with hail. In the night sudden cracks of thunder jolted me awake, finding that place of fear that had taken up residence in me during the time I lived in that city.
I wrote a weather story last week, about the U.S. snowstorm, my first in years. As an intern, it was always a sure way to get on the front page of whatever newspaper I was working for, not because of my beautiful stormy prose, but because of the talents of photographers who could take lovely shots of the city in sideways rain, blistering heat or mountains of snow.
The sun will be up again soon, time to start the day. If the sky is red I’ll imagine the dark clouds of Ghana and South Africa that would more accurately warn us of what’s ahead.