In Praise of Weather

There is a reason hell is found in the hot core of the earth and heaven is found in the cold vacuum of space. (Though I believe Dante (I haven't read him) might differ on this -- something about the devil flapping his wings and creating a chilling breeze.)

People always seem to want to love the heat. They rejoice when summer comes. The prospect of endless days of intense heat seldom fails to gladden them. Then they go out in it: their skin burns, they suffer heat stroke, dehydration, their risk of cancer multiplies, they feel entirely enervated, they have to cover themselves in gooey chemicals in order to help protect their skin -- yet they still think the heat is wonderful. Not even the frostiest of mornings has such adverse effects. The thing about heat is that, even while it slowly burns and drains you, you feel happily out of it, happily incapacitated, and that's a feeling most people unfortunately enjoy. They like submitting to the laziness heat demands of them. To enjoy the cold weather one has to enjoy struggle and activity. One has to like the sharp awakeness that the cold air brings.

Now, I do not particularly enjoy cold weather. Sure, I like the exhilarating feeling of a winter's walk, especially on a blustery day. But I am always relieved to reclaim my sedantry position at home. My favourite weather is found in spring. I enjoy the rain, the wind, the crispness in the morning, the gentle sun in the day, the cosiness at night. But I also enjoy autumn for its otherworldliness, even summer for its sudden and brilliant rainshowers. It's a sad thing about most adults that they seem to lose their childhood love of weather. All they want is dullness, weather that does not interfere, weather that is uneventful. How terribly boring.