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| Green Lakes State Park; October 2017 |
Yesterday I'd been talking to a colleague about weather in Syracuse, the lake effect that shapes so much of our experience of winter. As these air masses pass over the smooth surface of Lake Ontario and then pass onto the land, they're caught suddenly on the rough texture of Tug Hill. Almost as though the air trips; and in that collision and as the air behind continues to flow east and south across the lake, these air masses are compressed between the slowed leading edge and the still-insistent trailing flows. Compressed, they rise, cool, dump their snow.
I thought about that today as we walked through the park -- the wind out of the south today, the early edges of the hurricane moving up through the Mississippi and Ohio Valleys. I was struck by the sudden sense of a world that far exceeds mine in scope. The fragile frames that give us a way to narrate where we are; how easily those can be lost to clouds. As I wrote awkwardly:
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