The howling & heaving of another Iowa afternoon.  Precipitation pounds like fists, sideways, like a thousand little knuckles at once.  And when the wind isn't howling, it seems to laugh.  I am unwilling to fight you today; you are relentless.  Like a child begging for attention, your persistence remarkable. 

Am I too impatient with nature?  Is this merely a dissonant chord in the song nature sings?  Something to enjoy rather than rebuke?

Hardly enjoyable, except if watching from the other side of a window.  Somehow, I manage to complain about something in creation - perhaps I'm the child...

This is something I wrote a while ago, but it seems applicable with the weather recently