weatherunderground.com

The wind outside tears down trees: A Nor'easter in late May. My body's been cold for days. I wonder why I moved to the Northeast in the first place. I fret daily over the weather; I've become my grandfather, my mother. Unlike them I don't listen to the doppler report on AM radio or flip though the weather channel during every commercial. No, I am of another generation: I hit refresh on weatherunderground.com obsessively (as if that will make the forecast change). I do it out of hope.

I hope and I hope and I hope.

I hope for warm sunny days in the spring; for heavy thunderstorms on hot summer afternoons; for fallen crisp colored leaves in the fall; for diamonds sparkling on the dark brown tree limbs in winter.

I hope for revolution; for a world where we can all realize ourselves as complete human beings; for a society based on need and desire, rather than the selfish greed of profit. But at least with this, despite the almost certain impossibility of something of the sort occurring in this county in my lifetime, at least there's something I can do about it: organize, organize, organize.

There's nothing I can do about the weather, and I'm running out of hope.