The Weather Channel
Between the window and the bright sun is a heavy curtain of rain. Each drop falls shining. The ground becomes unstable, feet unable to direct, everything askance. Snow settles, makes mountain peaks out of high moorland. Darkness snuggles down; unsettled snow flies under it, throws itself into adventures. What is best about cars in heavy weather: the view, un-squinted. As the moors pass, snow frequency lulls. Swirls in fine polkadots dance. Beyond this the sky whites with lightening, strikes awe. This morning hail stones, part melt, gather frogspawn-ish on a windscreen. They have a particular coldly weighted slump as the wipers clear. The view is grey-blue, ice-smeared, flat as a screen.