i boarded the 18:30hrs X59 from Glenrothes to Edinburgh despite the dangerous weather warnings: “flash floods and ensuing landslides, tornadoes and electrical hailstorms” cautioned the weatherman.
it is June, but it isn’t flaming. not even a flicker. rain has been falling, hard and fast, since 3pm – not even pausing for breath. rain, relentless rain.
i sat at the front of the bus. a front row view, anticipating a display of the full wrath of Mother Nature, but with no popcorn.
the rain lashed off the windscreen as the bus drove through sheets of falling water, each drop seemingly desperate to rejoin the rivers and oceans from whence it first came. the windscreen wipers worked double time but still they could not keep up. lazy and ineffectual, despite their best efforts. they swung manically from side to side, as if in a panic, casting rivers of water aside as we ploughed through the rain.
the weatherman feared weather of Biblical proportions. dangerous weather:
“do not travel unless absolutely necessary” he warned.
clouds gathered at pace. the sky seemed low and murky, swollen and pregnant with rain.
and its waters were breaking.
the driver, our Moses, took command of our modern-day Ark – with its leather seats, air-conditioning and free WIFI- and cut through the waters, as though parting the Red Sea.
oh prophetic weatherman. the forecast now seemed all too real.
i gazed out the window at the monochrome skies. the forecast is bleak. but it is warm. unusually warm. 25°C. the air feels heavy. heavy weather. my head is throbbing and my eyes feel hot and dry.
we aquaplaned across the Forth Road Bridge. the tops of the towers, obscured with cloud, seemed to be reaching up in vain: ‘what’s the point in trying to appear elegant in this weather?’ the sea below, full, appeared to reach up towards the heavy sky: ‘take me… take me…’
the rain continued to batter off the windscreen. oh the sound. northbound traffic sailed past, leaving a wake of road surf.
but still, the countryside looked so green. so lush. trees, bushes, shrubs and fields never looked so alive and vibrant. saturated with rain, saturated with colour.
i arrived at my destination and ran into Sainsbury’s to take refuge from the falling water. i bought a bottle of red wine. i stood in the queue, water trickling down the back of my neck. my hair, like a tangled mess of seaweed, clung wet to my shoulders.
the electrical hailstorms did not hail; the tornadoes did not come uproot me nor did they whisk me away to an otherworldly place; and the land did not slide out from beneath my feet. i got a little wet. that was all.
the weatherman got it wrong as usual. i felt cheated, lied to, short-changed.
fortunately, my own personal prophesy for this Saturday evening was one of warmth and comfort in the company of my lover and our friends.
i had barely crossed the threshold to their home when the sun came out.
summer was ours.
(c) Kat McDonald 2014