Under a Yellow Sky

Just after 6am and the morning is already steamy hot - I think I could cut the air into slices and serve it like birthday cake.  The patch of sky I can see through the trees is yellowish and threatening, probably filled with rain, just waiting for its moment.   Summer in the south means suffocating heat and god awful humidity, weather advisories and warnings.  This is hurricane season when nature loses her temper and hail the size of marbles can rain down in June.  Contrary to what we all brightly tell visitors, you don't get used to it - you just wait it out, praying for a river breeze and the air conditioning not to fail.


Whether it's age or hormones or just the slow decline of my naturally sunny disposition, I don't know, but I mind the heat more than I used to.  I'm reminded of my mother - always sweating and short tempered as soon as the weather turned, too exhausted and miserable to do more than sit and fan herself.   Even before she began menopause she lived in a kind of perpetual hot flash from May to October, self medicating with alcohol and a variety of over the counter, useless aids.   By the time full on summer arrived, all we could do was follow my daddy's example - stay out of her way and hope for the best, a breeze off the lake perhaps or a new window unit.  You never knew when a small rain cloud would turn into a hurricane.



I knew it was a callous thought, but there were times I thought that on some level she might've enjoyed her suffering.  If nothing else, I was positive she liked the attention and deference it afforded her - it reinforced her concept of center stage, of being the main attraction.  She was an unpredictable old drunk, much like a gathering storm under a yellow sky - might blow itself out and pass harmlessly by - or might make landfall and wreak havoc.


Never trust an unmarried woman, a travelin' salesman or a sick lookin' sky, Sparrow used to say, Ain't a shred of conscience in any of 'em.


After building and biding its time all day, the storm struck in late afternoon - the wind sheared through the trees like a tornado, bowing, bending and finally snapping limbs clean off.  The rain began gently but within minutes was coming down in torrents and then there was the hail, slamming violently into the deck and the driveway, sharply bouncing off the roof like metal pellets out of the sky.  The cats ran for cover and the dogs began to whine anxiously.  It was over in a matter of minutes.


Red sky at night, sailor's delight.
Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.


There was no rhyme for a yellow sky.  Deservedly so.