Weather Watch

 

As the days slip the chill lifted and early September the temperature fetched 20 degrees. Only a week ago there had been an overnight minimum of 2, which required the assembly of three doonas, a nightcap and thermal top throughout. Sporadic rain over the term, three or four instances and briefly over. Tonight at his side gate Arthur pointed out the crescent moon low in the west lying on its back holding water. Sure enough, there was an 80% chance of rain forecast. According to Arthur when the moon was face down, sitting on its points, the water was emptied and there was no need for umbrella. Arthur was surprised to hear on the Equator the crescent moon never appeared other than standing vertically, as depicted in the Islamic symbolism. Like on the Turkish flag, Arth remembered. In the shaving mirror it was tricky maintaining any decent line on the right sideburn; not easy keeping up appearances. Guessing and feeling was the usual way. Switching to the “powder room” spiegel was an option, where the light from the high window gave a better idea. Looking around the nose with the left over to the sidey on the other cheek was not exactly ideal. In that downstairs mirror the craggy, aged lines were all too clear, especially around the throat. Gore Vidal had warned beyond forty a man needed to be careful which mirror he showed his face.  But we were weather watching. Marvellous rosy flush in the West one night caught somewhere between Yarraville and Seddon. There was at the time a momentary stab just like in Sing’, because there seemed to be no one giving any regard. Streets vacant as usual. You would  have thought someone within those houses might have come out to their front gate for the performance. The skies most days offered magnificent layering of clouds like luxuriant pillowing, with intense blues poking in odd corners. The old Slavonic in the Serbian liturgy for Our father didn’t speak specifically of heaven. It was Oce nas u nebesi, Our father in the skies… Earliest days there may have been some confusion by it. Out on the back veranda Godfather Luka had once remarked on the mind-lost sky-gazing to which his little charge was given. Five or six years of age perhaps. On that occasion Kum, Godfather Luka had gone on to divulge his private believe that God was in fact the clouds in the sky; drifting over the world was how everything could be surveyed. This was no babble tailored for a child; one knew how that form went. Almost non-existent humouring of that kind among the South Slavs, at least a decade or so after the war certainly. Direct and earnest in all things, children not excepted.