Weather

“God is an experience,” an old man told me as he reached for another cookie.

I swear I read somewhere that your uncoiled intestines can reach the moon.

We stood by the window and watched the howling dark, even though this isn’t what you should do in a tornado.

A lone helicopter crossed the sky. The temperature dropped. Dogs barked. Birds stopped chirping.

I’m learning to find pleasure in the ultramundane and routine.

"Virga" is the name for precipitation that does not reach the ground.

Every year I feel a little more vertiginous.

Why does the wind leave us feeling so exhausted and harassed?

I had no idea there was so much weather in the desert.

Here in Las Vegas, we’re catching the faintest edge of a weather event that sounds like something from a fantasy novel.

A heat dome has settled over the Middle West, the moon was extra bright last night, and I saw a rainbow in the parking lot yesterday.

Mostly sunny, the heat is building, and there’s a strawberry supermoon. Wall Street fell into a bear market today, and last year’s attempted coup is being relitigated on television in the hope that justice might still exist in some corner of the universe. I admire their faith. The

I never know how seriously to take anything anymore.

Ohio. Clear skies with highs in the mid-thirties, sunset at 5:34pm, and it finally snowed last night. Not a lot of snow, but enough to soften the world a little. Enough to remember childhood winters and even recall a sense of wonder at all this strange material falling from

A grey Sunday with the possibility of snow. They’re calling it a Saskatchewan Screamer, this weather system moving northeast across the Tennessee Valley. In the meantime, I’m trying to sort myself out. Will I ever untangle the stories scattered across my notebooks? What am I doing with my

Sunset: 5:51pm. Partly cloudy in New York with a high of 60 degrees and lows dipping into the 40s at last. Now begins my favorite season, the deep stretch of time when the landscape weighs upon the mind and perhaps the other way around. This is the season of

Ohio. Storms today. Maybe it’s because I’m back in the Midwest, but a memory flashed to mind that I haven’t thought about in years. I was six years old and playing with some of the neighborhood kids in a park somewhere south of Chicago. The sky turned

And for a moment I wonder if it will keep raining until everything is washed clean.

A massive plume of desert dust has crossed the Atlantic. It began in the Sahara after a heavy rain. Now it’s tinting the skies in Miami as it bleeds across the American South, generating brown haze and fantastic sunsets. They’re calling it the Gorilla Dust Cloud, and you