We came to depend on the uncertain weather,

The four long weeks of drought in March, the freak

Flurry of snow in May, the sudden thunderous

Downpour on a September afternoon.

Each day we would plan for storms and heatwaves

And each night we would recount how, once

Again, the weather had made fools of us.

Content that life could not be predicted.

Then one evening, when the birds

Like drunks sang out their slow goodnights,

You said, “Tomorrow the weather will change”.

That night I lay in bed alone

Listened as the rain slid down the window,

The first leaves fell shivering from the trees.