Last night there was something different from the month of sun and sky we’ve had: wind and clouds! And even some rain! Like just about every other thing, weather makes me think of poetry, and I thought of what Pablo Neruda had to say about it:

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.

The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.

(From “Every Day You Play,” complete text here. [Warning: terrifying web design.] It’s really a love poem, so if you’re not in love it may make you sad and bitter. Hey, I’m just saying—)