Posts tagged with "weather" - Faerye Net

New word: the flurry!

2008-05-27T11:59:04+00:00

Usually I wouldn’t post another vocab discovery so soon – I like a little more variety in my blog stew – but weather-obsessed grizelda taught me the word graupel. This is obviously a word whose time has come, and that time is SCRABBLE TIME.

Graupel is a form of precipitation formed when water freezes onto existing snowflakes to form balls of ice.

Obscure, yet tasty!

It snowed!

2006-03-09T12:43:39+00:00

Here! Big chunky chunks of it! The latest I EVER remember it snowing here was in February, on my birthday, when I was little.

It turned into rain, eventually, but what a beautiful moment! Ryan SMSed me to look, and there it was. Big, fluffy clumps of flakes wafting down from the sky, flying casual, as if there was nothing to get excited about at all….

It's here! It's really here!

2005-11-04T12:57:23+00:00

Autumn is here! It’s pouring and blowing, and even occasionally pelting and wuthering! The grey sky and the silhouettes of trees are shimmering on the wet ground, the world is a constant susurrating drumroll, and every now and then the wind bustles through and rips the leaves away from their swaying branches. No more half-measures and drizzly gestures, this is fall. It has come!

Weather, I am on to you!

2004-08-04T15:54:23+00:00

The Weather listens, and It understands.

I am accustomed to say, flippantly and often, that the only ‘summer’ that can be relied upon in Oregon—in the sense of beautiful days full of sunshine and puffy cumulus clouds—is the first two weeks of August. I usually further add that the rest of the summer is unreliable, except that it will rain on the Rose Festival.

It is the first week of August, and it is grey outside. And SPRINKLING! FINE, Weather! I get it! Let’s see…It sure isn’t going to start raining money just outside the building! Nope! Not here in Oregon! No time soon!

The Rain

2003-09-09T16:52:36+00:00

The rain came back, this week. I walked outside, and found I’d forgotten how quiet the world is after rain, the sun subsiding from its loud glare, the trees making sounds that are a kind of silence, the very pavement cushioned from footsteps with a thin layer of water. The paper birches were drip-drying their leaves, and the grass looked less artificial under a spray of dew. I forget sometimes how much I love it. Yesterday I walked back from lunch in the driving rain, and I couldn’t stop laughing, as if each drop running down my face or tunneling through my hair was a joke or a tickling touch. When it rains, I am home.