“Virga” is the name for precipitation that does not reach the ground. It hangs across the desert like a torn curtain.
The most compelling piece was an incidental moment rather than any piece of art, which is often the case.
It might be more necessary than ever to develop an eye for the timeless.
I had no idea there was so much weather in the desert. By now, I thought I’d be begging for a cloud.
I told myself it was a trick of the light rather than the result of the grey in my beard.
Shuffling through nature’s silence with strangers felt oddly intimate.
William Kentridge’s smoldering landscapes look like scenes from a fast-approaching future. Meanwhile, a Chinese surveillance balloon was spotted over Montana.
The unique scent of desert rain has a scientific name, petrichor, derived from the Greek words for stone and the blood of the gods.
It’s nice to have a new place on the map to romanticize. And William Gibson has nothing on the Catholics.
The television followed this up with a special report about dogs overdosing on their owners’ drugs.
Clear skies with highs in the mid-thirties, and it finally snowed last night.
They’re calling it a “Saskatchewan screamer,” this weather system moving across the Tennessee Valley.
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.
Maybe it was the barometer dropping, the rearrangement of air pressure.
And for a lunatic moment I wonder if it will keep raining until everything is washed clean.
They’re calling it the Gorilla Dust Cloud, and you can see it from outer space.
