Granularity

I like to think that Loch Loch has a weather system that is detached from the rest of Earth's climate. It presents weather in well defined packages, some last only a few minutes, some days. But it is very clear what it wants to do. Sharp edges, clear boundaries, no ambiguity there. And it is always beautiful, terrifying, yes, but also beautiful. Standing outside, in the middle of the night, trying to guess what the weather will be in the next moment, while familiar constellations on the sky get re-organised by intervening clouds. Andromeda surely looks different without that star.


Monday morning I wake up to rain, which turns into snow, a transition that is mesmerising to watch from inside the tent. The hard noise of rain drops turns soft, and just moments later the first layer of snow make it just slightly darker inside. Then little avalanches slide down the walls of the tent. Then an ice rim at the beach. The slopes look like a black and white photograph from an old family album. Then the clouds move away, show is over, next chapter.

Tuesday the same beginning, rain, but now it continues onwards as rain, for hours. I can see the rain coming down the loch. The dominating colours are a pale green and the brown of mud and heather, brown everywhere. It is difficult to be sure how unpleasant the rain is going to be. In the tent it always sounds annoying, or peaceful, depending on my state of mind. Eventually I have to get outside and try it out.