Weathered England. You pour abject misery upon us. From skies of thunder grey And clouds of peat black. And the constant winds that howl in cold disdain. Scarred, beaten, downtrodden,
Under pelting rains. England you torment and scowl and wither us. Rendered mute in weathered resignation. Our thoughts distilled to black pools.
Empty and hopeless. But then the black of winter scorn Is split asunder to quickening blue
Skies appear from beyond the cloud An unanticipated sun shines All is forgotten. All is forgiven. England. Did we ever doubt? ___________________________ The whole of the British Isles is subject to the vagaries of an unpredictable and often depressing, frustrating climate. The weather pervades every aspect of life and forms central points of innumerable conversations. Yet, just when the weather has beaten you, left you resigned to forever rain and cold and cloud and dullness, a day of sunshine lifts the spirits. I am an Englishman. The weather runs through my veins. It defines me. Influences my mood, directs my decisions...stay in or go out, do this or do that? Weather is central to everything.
