When I woke up today, sunlight had already burst through my windows; the excited, Ridalin-addicted wind rammed against the sides of my house, and when I open my windows, hot, humid hair slapped against my cheeks and face. Looking up, I saw a clear sky. No clouds, only sun. Birds chirped and flew, so high and so far, becoming small specks in the distance. I blinked. I could have mistaken this morning for yesterday's or the day before's. This entire week had been like this, and had been absolutely the same: hot, humid, and windy. It was predictable like a soap-opera.
I grinned to myself. The sky was just like a person. There is always a specific pattern it will follow. I roll my eyes. Everything is so simple, easy to explain. I laughed and made myself breakfast, expecting more clear skies and ruffling wind. Coarse air and blinding sunlight. Sharp shadows. This time I agreed with the weatherman; it was clear skies all today.
But at 9 it changed. I looked up; muscled clouds drew maps across the sky. Rumbles groaned in the distance.
I blinked in disbelief, but it was true.
Then, it begins.
Droplets splatter, smacking the ground. From far away, it just looks dark. But the thundering rain pounding against the window and the pavement tell me differently. The wind pushes and shoves the trees and branches, making the plummeting rain come in ebbs and flows. I watch the drops slap the grass. I see the rain draw patterns on the ground, weaving in waves and currents, thickening and thinning carelessly.
It's rain. Bouncing and leaping. Irregular beats.
A complete change of pace. The rain doesn't stop for more than an hour, unleashing more pouring, scalding rain upon the ground. And I can't help but be shocked. Not only did the weatherman lie, but I was wrong too.
Something in me makes me laugh. Of course it would rain. Just like people, the sky can only hold up a facade for so long. After the mask wears thin, the people reveal their true selves. I look at the sky again. It is dark and furious. I turn away. I don't expect the storm to end for more than a few hours.
But slowly, the pounding softened, quieting as the outside gradually brightened. The wind sighed and drifted to sleep. Then, the air was free of any rain. Dry patches colonized the road. And within moments, the sky began to clear, the sun began to shine, and the only sign there had ever been a storm were the slowly diminishing puddles, scattered on the sidewalks.
I was wrong again. Perhaps the rainy side of the sky wasn't a facade after all. Maybe it was the temporary mask. Maybe.
I don't know. I think in reality, there never was a "mask" for the sky; being sunny and rainy are both what the sky is. And yet the sky is neither all sunny nor all rainy. They're both.
But one thing's for sure: I'm definitely not cut out to be a meteorologist.
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