The weather unleashes confusion on the populace with its heat, its humidity and its variability. Bewildered, we cope with torrential storms that unleash 100 mm within an evening. Perplexed, we grapple with temperatures that plummet twenty degrees within the hour.
The panting city quivers. The air is enveloped with heat. The earth is enclosed by heat. The very shade beneath the trees is swaddled with heat. The baking footpaths shimmer. The sultry air stifles the passageways and transpires all foliage. This furnace of air wafts skywards, extracting moisture from the already parched earth, withdrawing breath from each withered throat.
An exhausted mirage, the city levitates and climbs upwards to the building cumulus, themselves skyscraping in rolling banks along the southern horizon, multiplying toward explosion point.
Weather is to climate but a second cousin twice removed, a tenuous relationship that befuddles our thinking . We spin in an ocean of half-truths.