The sky is dark, and the wind is whipping the palms into a crazed, circular frenzy. Waves ripple across the pond, capped with little white crests, and even the hooded merganser ducks, with their grand black-and-white crests, who usually bob and sway no matter what the wind may bring, have sought shelter elsewhere. The rain is light but circular, driven first one way, then another. Some say the wind howls, but this wind sounds more like a blender on low speed, churning in a relentless whirl that pauses for a moment before surging back again.
And to think, yesterday was seventy degrees and sunny.
This is winter in Florida. Spontaneous and restless, as if all the warmth and sunlight have spun away like a passing tornado. Tomorrow we will gather up the bird feeders and garden flags strewn across the yard, and set right the tipped lawn chairs and side tables.
The pond will once again lie smooth and placid, its surface mirror-like, while the noble black-and-white ducks dive beneath it in search of dinner. Weather here is somehow bigger than the worst snowstorms of the North, and yet just as predictable as a red sky warning of an incoming storm. This is Florida weather, and there is nothing else like it in the world!
