I remember last year about this time, I'd just moved to the West Coast. Hailstones the size of ping ping balls fell from the sky, the hills were covered in snow, and huge drifts of white stuff blew on the wind. Not snow, but milkweed.
Everywhere I looked (when it wasn't hailing) the valleys were sheeted in walls of prickly yellow bushes. Later I found out the stuff was witches broom. Funny, back East people buy witches broom as a novelty--out here, it grows like yellow fire. Between the milkweed and broom, it's allergy central. My mom says I can't be allergic to the witches broom, because everyone knows it's really the pine pollen. I didn't think I'd be moving someplace where you have to argue exactly what you're wheezing about.
The day I moved into my new house, I had to call Cowboy, "hey--crushed ice is falling from the sky." He humored me, because everyone knows crushed ice doesn't fall from the sky. Today, crushed ice fell from the sky again, covered the rail outside my window, and what's left of my thyme plants. The crazy Seattle people ran around in shorts, short-sleeved t-shirts and flip-flops.
Two months ago, when it was snowing and iced over, I asked someone if I needed snow chains and he laughed. "It doesn't snow here in Seattle." Now that the ice-melt and shovels are on sale, I'm stocking up.
The weather's following me.