The weather here in Cleveland is insanely beautiful.
I’m sitting now on a huge sandstone block positioned as a-one-of-many lumps in the extensive breakwater on the south coast of Lake Erie and blogging short-sleeved while sipping a beer under a brilliantly sunny sky overlooking relatively placid waters which are usually an embattlement of polar ice, cold, snow, and whipping waves this time of year. Damn, there are still-lingering gnats and flies buzzing occasionally and flowers that haven’t even frosted-to-wilt yet. And today is not a mere exception. The pattern of mildness all fall has been exceptionally consistent except for one freak dusting of snow a month (though it seems years) ago which flaked for half of a day, then vanished as if succumbing democratically to its own innate self-discovered bizareness. I’d be surprised if this isn’t the warmest fall—oops—with the coming of December it is meteorologically winter (though not calendarically until the winter solstice later this month)—on record in recorded weather history, if not all-time since the Mesozoic Age of extensive tropicality.
So I’m sunning like a man for all seasons upon a winter’s battlefield sans the polar siege. And as I listen to the water swish, I ponder nothing that I’ll never miss.
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