the gods are furious

first came the wind, the wind brought the darkness and the darkness brought the rain and it rained and blustered for three days in the dark, with the steadiness of a monsoon, and the winds were always there.
monsoons are quite unlike the raging storms i've seen here in the northeast. the monsoons i saw in asia impressed me first with the sheer volume of water dropped on the earth, and second with their resolute capacity to continue. the rains here are simply more stormy. there is a way the wind drives the warmth and contentedness out of you, whips rain so piercingly against your body as to imply a hatred and a vengeance. in thailand it was so humid one could never be dry, whether you came inside or the rain stopped outside, you were going to be sticky and damp. here it's not the wetness that stays with you, but the bitter cold. your comfort and kindness are devoured; those who are strong are left angry enough to rebuild their spirits. the rest are left withered and resigned. and this is the power of a real storm, that weather hates you for as long as it lasts until you can only rebel against it or fall beneath it.

this is the kind of weather we've been having the past few days. i think of all the suffering endured in these elements until lined coats and microfiber blankets, cars with heated seats were built in man's rebellion against the weather. because of their anger and industry i didn't even feel one one hundredth of the power of this past storm and still, it swept up my coat sleeves and down my neck, into my lungs and marrow and no amount of hours under blankets can take away the cold that has crept into my body.