Basement bailing has become one of our regular pastimes. First the rumble in the sky, the gray clouds swirling overhead, the plummeting barometer and then the torrential, tropical rains. Then, thorny branches growing faster than something out of a science fiction movie across the steps leading up to the house, a fluorescent garden, greener than a rain forest--then a few forty-minute segments of sun before the torrents begin again.
Tram delays. Water in the boiler room. Water in the storage room. Plastic food containers waiting to scoop the stuff up before it becomes malarial.
The air, as I write, is clear again. Between Brexit (Welcome, Brefugees! says my child's internet joke), unmentionable American politicians, and the weather, I do wonder if we're on the cusp of the end of civilization. Weigh in, science minds.