Day One: A trance of rain, ear churn momute.
Day Two: Slide high noontide, sundersthorms plate.
Day Three: Moistly scattered sneers and a few frizzles.
Day Four: Chants of wrinkles, dartly cloudy and chowdery.
Day Five: Humility Poor Boy Talls, Barometer IPA 75%.
Day Six: Moggy, very low viability.
Day Seven: Topical air mass pew point, wind clam.
- Thick hot pine tar air dropping from powerful trees.
- Rosemary, basil, garlic, and spearmint mixing with tales of salt water.
- Soft golden sun boiling over salsa garden.
- Bare feet in wet sand, nibbled by sand crabbed bubbles.
- Plenty of weather to write or not in the forecast. Some pressure to publish sun only.
Here … Round-cast: grey screen vows virtual cheer behind the scene.
Any pooping clouds ker chance?
I’m feelin’ very chowdary myself! Mmmmmm
Down here , we’re having a wry spell , The NRA has announced plans to shoot the breeze . Intermittent weather is forecast .
El Segundo Beach has some pretty good weather. Or Playa del Rey, not too crowded. Dukesherer went to SBHS.
Blustery farts rain poisonous darts. :)
The weatherman keeps his weather rants wrapped in his pants, but as Dylan said, “You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.” And that’s because, as Tom Paxton said, “Rain and snow, Cold winds blow, What can a poor boy do – ” …which I was just looking for on You Tube, but the only version I could find is this one, some old boy giving it a kind of Irish tone.
Your “Weather Retort” forces us to NOT take something we hear daily for granted, and sugars it into melody – well done. As well, it illustrates that some only forecast their cloudy vision of our… whether (or not). Thank you for sharing your art!
Doug, great to hear from you! Thanks for reading and commenting. It’s a sort of strange story how this post started and evolved and came together at the end and seemed to make a certain kind of sense. Suffice to say there’s been a surplus of weather around the area lately. Joe
Any gutsy wings?
Ah! I think that must be from a local forecast? But I wish, I wish, I hope…or, as Blake said: “No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.” And Joyce said: “No birdy aviar soar anywing to eagle it.” In any case, I’ve swung the barometer around and set it to “gutsy wings.” Or, wait a minute, is that something that happens after too many Barometer IPAs?
Yes, it could’ve been from a local forestcase.
In a real weather retort I heard yesterday, while driving home in the drizzle, the radio announcer said: “OK, Burty, can ya give us a weather wrap up?”.
Weather guru Burty: “Well, mate, just stick ya head out of th window – Cloudy, bit of rain … it’s not brain surgery.”