Inclement weather with a low grade of foreseen peril contents me. Could it be the apparent immediacy of change that gives cause for hope of a similar effect in another area of my life? It may be my innate inclination for a tilted personality. Storms, showers, snow, and sleet, are welcome ways to wash the land. Clouds, fog, and blustery cold revive a wearied mind. The message I hear: Surprise! Control is minimal. A proclamation salve. Hands thrown to the windy sky; I spin, wet to the skin, penetrated and refreshed of soul. Irresistible wordplay: All hale the hail! Misty mountains, roofs trickled and clicked with drip drop cadence, nostrils fill with the sweet aroma of moisture and dirt; wonder is sung in my ears today.