Thursday, April 16, 2009


DEEP WEATHER


Another of the hundreds or thousands or millions if not billions of things I like about living up here on the mountainside is that we get so much more weather. And thicker. We get way more weather than they do down in the village or elsewhere on the flatlands, and I love weather. I love living so close to the thunder. Often by the time we get down to the bottom of the mountain the weather has faded away, and what they have down there is some watered-down version.

A few days ago an elder farmer friend who has a paddy down by the village stopped by to visit and view my ongoing antimonkey efforts (he got a good chuckle out of it), said he bet we get a LOT of wind up here... I hadn't thought about it in exactly that way, but he's right. Usually when it gets windy, we're the only ones up here.

It comes with the view. Strong weather. Deep weather. Not the shallow pallid lowland stuff they get on the ground, with the wispy fogs and wishywashy rains, slushy snows and clouds way high above: we get the storms right around our heads, with extra rain and snow, wind and fog, you should see the fog, you can't see a thing! Down in the village they can see their hands in front of their faces; up here the weather is so thick in a good fog you can't even tell you have eyes.

And the wind: wow, we get it straight from the source, direct and intact, unbent by buildings and whatnot, brushed clean by forests and polished to airy brilliance by whole mountainsides. We humans need a lot of weather by nature, I think-- good weather, varied weather, strong, deep weather, to keep us topped up, and up here we live right in it, like getting your water straight from the spring, not from way downstream...

Up here is where the weather happens first.

4 comments:

Kay Dennison said...

I'm sure it's lovely. I have trouble with heavy, big weather as I'm aging. When I was a kid, I loved it all and reveled in it. Arthritis changes a lot.

And as always, I'm dreaming of white sand and blue water with a Mexican accent. Sadly, it won't become a reality without some miracles. Perhaps Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe will make me one.

Mark Wild . . . said...

The weather is alive and after reading this piece I feel closer to the weather and love it more because I understand it just a little better . . . More than anything, I wish to get and be closer to the "thick", "fresh-from-the-source" weather PureLandMountain has described so well . . . What he paints with words is equal to more than a thousand light flashes from a dew drop in the dawn . . .

I was in a foreign tropical bay at sunset about one moon ago and from high on a gargantuan bolder above the bay I watched the light fade and then in the silver moonlight I recognized that the sea was alive, was pulsing and alive, was breathing and alive, was beyond infinitely immense and alive . . .

get the weather and sea together and youve got some truly cosmic recipes that are full of energy, serendipitdy and surrender . . .

Bob Brady said...

Thanks for that, Mark; yes, there is so much beauty there... Lucky you, a tropical bay at sunset; sounds like you made the most of it. What a vast life is the weather, breath of the planet!

Bob Brady said...

And Kay, I'm rooting for your miracle.