Under The Weather

I have been sneaking about under the weather. The colour of the weather is deep blue, a teal so dark it should be indigo; the shadow of Eau de Nil. The Dog Star is in the sky , bright in its winter glory. In Egypt, in the summer, it rose with the sun and raced across the dawn. The Nile would surge up to meet it, break over the fields, and the dog days would be upon us again.

I have been sneaking about on the opposite side of the year. Our floods pour over us in winter, and Sirius never sees the sun. There is a grey, slate tone to the blue, and the green drips onto its reflection in puddles which are lakes which are waterways. They rage. It's as though a tap has been opened and all the memories of dark, smothered confusion pour around us. We're powerless again. Remember the last time this happened? Remember when it was impossible to breathe, because the next breath happened in the future and the future was too frightening to face?

I have been sneaking about under the face of the weather. I can't see its face directly, which is reasonable. I'd need a mirror to do that, and although the ground is all mirrors these days, I'm too far away to take a close look. I've grown up, you see. I'm tall now. I can't see my face in the ground so clearly.

I've gone through my house like a tornado. It shines, like sun on smooth water. The floors have been scrubbed, and the sink is living up to its name of stainless steel. I scrub away the mysterious tracks of the past - odd splodges, alien smears - like a rough baptism. I feel different - lighter, liberated - and my old habits and fears seem to blow away under my scouring fingers.

I've bought new shoes. Fur-lined, blue and waterproof. I dream of walking through the wind on wild, hilly tracks that I have never walked before. I'm surfacing; slowly, through the surf of the weather, I'm rising into the air. It's been a hard winter, but now I'm racing the sun; I'll reach my dog days first, and laugh as the bright light catches up with me.

I'll surge upwards, to meet the storm with my own flood; and I'll become the weather, and never sneak about beneath myself again.