Weather

I’m sitting on my bed in Brooklyn, Wellington, looking out at the weather, waiting for the sheeting rain to empty the sky.

Yesterday I walked down to the city in the wildest wettest gale I’ve ever known. It was exhilarating, and the park smelt wonderfully woody. We sat in a bar on the edge of the harbour and watched the sky change by the minute – sometimes the tall buildings the other side of the bay disappeared in cloud, other times the sky cleared a little and they stood out brilliantly against deep green grey water – the wind flinging white foam into spray. A bird flying inland was blown out to sea again, as helpless as a kite. As we walked out of the
bar, holding onto our hats, we were whirled off course – we pushed and leant against wind that caught us by surprise as it whipped round the corners of buildings. 
We reached the centre of the city and for a brief moment the sun came through as if liquid silver were poured from a funnel in the sky - the pavement, the concrete walls mirroring brilliance.

All night the gale was wild, followed by moments of stillness when the wind fell and the rain stopped, and silence was so restful. Now there’s a slight clearing of whiteness in the grey sky and I’m longing to get out down to the city again. I’m thinking of the heat wave the other side of the world in England and how the warmth and light of the sun transforms everything, and how strange and wonderful these contrasts in weather.