March comes in like a lion in other places, but this year it was a lamb, at least until now. Usually March means big pressure differences between Lows and Highs and tight isogonic lines delineating such pressure differentials on the weather charts. And all that means big wind.
Last night, after days of balmy spring weather, I dreamed a wind storm. Woke at 3 a.m. to the sound of a stiff breeze making the slash pine moan and the saw palmetto rustle. The night air had turned humid with the southwesterly flow and smelled of the jasmine bushes just outside my window. No clouds to stop the nearly full moon from lighting the place up like dusk, but I swear you could feel the barometer dropping with each gust.
Throughout this morning and into the afternoon as I work here in my office on a totally unrelated story I am completely distracted by the sound of the wind working itself into a full gale right on the other side of the glass. It's hurricane glass, so I've nothing to fear. Even if the gale sent a chunk of pine forest flying into the panes they'd hold together (shatter, sure, but the membranes between the double panes would keep it all intact). "Good to keep out even 2X4's at 150mph!" said the salesman who talked us into protecting the house and ourselves this way. I've never had to test them, even through two hurricanes. Hope it stays that way.
In an hour or two, according to The Weather Channel, a squall line should cross the coastline on the
bias and slam into us with its full force of near hurricane force winds, lightning and, thank goodness rain (this kind of weather's only redeeming quality). We do need the rain to keep our fire season at bay just a little longer. We'll tolerate the hammering for a couple of hours to get to the cooler, dryer breezes behind the frontal boundary, and enjoy a breath or two of springtime before the tropical summer claws its way northward, helped along by the blocking action of the Bermuda High, due to shift into place sometime next month.
When that happens, hibernation begins. The world ceases to be civilized (okay maybe just in temperature and humidity) between the hours of 10 and 5. The air conditioner kicks on and stays on, and for us worker bees, vitamin D tablets are a good thing.
Summer in south Florida. I'm not looking forward to it.
Last night, after days of balmy spring weather, I dreamed a wind storm. Woke at 3 a.m. to the sound of a stiff breeze making the slash pine moan and the saw palmetto rustle. The night air had turned humid with the southwesterly flow and smelled of the jasmine bushes just outside my window. No clouds to stop the nearly full moon from lighting the place up like dusk, but I swear you could feel the barometer dropping with each gust.
Throughout this morning and into the afternoon as I work here in my office on a totally unrelated story I am completely distracted by the sound of the wind working itself into a full gale right on the other side of the glass. It's hurricane glass, so I've nothing to fear. Even if the gale sent a chunk of pine forest flying into the panes they'd hold together (shatter, sure, but the membranes between the double panes would keep it all intact). "Good to keep out even 2X4's at 150mph!" said the salesman who talked us into protecting the house and ourselves this way. I've never had to test them, even through two hurricanes. Hope it stays that way.
In an hour or two, according to The Weather Channel, a squall line should cross the coastline on the
bias and slam into us with its full force of near hurricane force winds, lightning and, thank goodness rain (this kind of weather's only redeeming quality). We do need the rain to keep our fire season at bay just a little longer. We'll tolerate the hammering for a couple of hours to get to the cooler, dryer breezes behind the frontal boundary, and enjoy a breath or two of springtime before the tropical summer claws its way northward, helped along by the blocking action of the Bermuda High, due to shift into place sometime next month.
When that happens, hibernation begins. The world ceases to be civilized (okay maybe just in temperature and humidity) between the hours of 10 and 5. The air conditioner kicks on and stays on, and for us worker bees, vitamin D tablets are a good thing.
Summer in south Florida. I'm not looking forward to it.