Only a week ago, I was planting flowers and tidying up last year’s remnants of autumn. The temperature had become above seasonal normal. The heat was no longer running and the dilemma was to cave in and switch on the air-conditioning or sweat it out whilst savouring any slight welcomed breezes which would visit me through my opened windows. The lovely, early, summer-like temperature was a common topic of conversation amongst most people. I had purchased another hanging flower basket a few days ago. The woman who rang up my purchase cautioned me to take the flowers in the garage on Sunday, as it was supposed to drop in temperature. I looked at her with a puzzling expression at what seemed like a ridiculous statement and nonetheless, thanked her.
For the remainder of the week, that ominous foreboding stuck in the back of my mind as I was hoping for a lovely sunny Saturday for my husband’s birthday party I was hosting. I was relying on nice weather so I could have extra seating out on the patio. When Saturday arrived, it was reasonably sunny but had become considerably cooler outside. I was happy there was no rain and figured with a crowd and some alcoholic indulging, that I could get away with my plan.
I woke Sunday morning to a chilly bedroom and to a distracting sound of constant tapping on the window. As I sauntered down to the kitchen and its aftermath of a night of partying, I looked out the window to find a hefty stream of hail and snow falling. My beautiful garden was taking a cruel, weather beating. I was grateful that my husband had taken my many hanging baskets to the garage the previous evening, remembering my heed of possible crazy weather approaching. As I stood in front of my window, watching my snow-covered flower beds and the pushing winds forcing their fury on my almost fully-bloomed lilac tree, I couldn’t help but wonder why Mother Nature was wreaking havoc on her own innocent children of nature.