Is this Florida?

No one who hasn’t taken leave of their senses could truthfully claim summer has finally appeared in Texas.  At least not North Texas.

We remain five to ten degrees below normal, if not more.  Tropical humidity continues unabated.  Sometimes spotty and sometimes widespread, rain and thunderstorms continue pummeling us.

For example, it’s presently 86°F (30°C) with a dewpoint of 71°F (22°C).  That equates to 61% relative humidity.

And thunderstorms are now developing around the area.

The high pressure system that normally dominates our summers has yet to form.  I now believe it’s too late for it make an appearance.  Even if it did, we’re now passing into summer’s end and what always has been the hottest part of the year, so any such weather system would be late to the game and crippled by our downhill slide toward autumn.

Flash floods in July?  That’s hardly Texan.  An inbound flow from the Gulf being drawn up by a vacuum created by high pressure to the east and west?  Again, not our common fare.  Yes, it’s generally humid here around this time… just not this humid.

And that brings me to a troubling premise for this year’s hurricane season. . .

North Texas is well beyond the due date for a hurricane strike.

Hurricanes in North Texas?  Yes, it does happen, and in fact it happens regularly—on a scale of time familiar to Earth and alien to humans, one measured in decades and centuries rather than minutes and seconds.

The weather pattern now controlling our days and nights offers the perfect setup for drawing just such a tropical storm north from the Gulf of Mexico.

You see, our familiar high pressure friend, the one who visits every summer and spans the distance from Oklahoma to the Gulf, and from Louisiana to New Mexico, tends to steer major storms around Texas.  Only the most potent of invaders can penetrate this shield.  Those who do tend to find themselves suffocated by a powerful force that crushes invaders beneath its heavy hand.

But not this year.  This year, instead, we have a vacuous space drawing weather up from the Gulf, pulling it up through a massive meteorological vacuum that continues pulling tremendous amounts of moisture and instability up from the south and directly over us.  Any tropical system that ventured too close to the mouth of this black hole would find itself yanked northward with tremendous force and at tremendous speeds.

Again, we are well behind schedule for a direct hit by such a storm.  The interesting thing is that we’re now setup with no defenses or obstacles to stop one should it head in this direction.  On the contrary, we’re now in a position to welcome one without interference.

This brings us to another part of the puzzle that causes concern.

It goes without saying that we have received more than our annual share of rain already, and it’s only July.  So much rain fell in the last three months that the ground remains super-saturated.  No part of Earth’s cover in this region has gone without heavy downpours for more than three or four days.

Add to that the excessive humidity.  You see, with the air remaining heavy with moisture, evaporation is taking much longer to dry things out.  One need only feel the heavy morning dew each day to realize this.

Because so much water remains trapped just below the surface with nowhere to go, and because the air keeps everything moist, a quick downpour easily brings flash flooding and extensions to existing flood problems with the various rivers and lakes in the area.

Now consider what a tropical system might do with these circumstances. . .

I’m in no way predicting such a thing will happen this year.  Or even next year.  It’s just that we’re already past due and are hosting precarious conditions that would support a major problem should anything happen along these lines.

And so we wait… and watch… and wonder.

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright

A close-up of Kazon as he looks up through a sunny window (205_0595)

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, Tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

— William Blake

A close-up of Kazon as he looks through a sunny window (205_0593)

[Kazon]

Return to life

Early July brought about the end of more than two months of flooding rains that lifted Texas from a multi-year drought with the kind of vengeance only nature can demonstrate.  In fact, from January through the end of June we received as much rain as we normally would in a full year, and most of that fell in just over two months.

Despite the marvelous rejuvenation of the landscape to which this monsoon season gave rise, something evidenced by lush greenery rising from what was once parched earth, not all plants did well.  Many Texans are now finding their lawns returning to the brown death that held them hostage for lack of water, yet this time it’s because too much water has either drowned the vegetation or stripped most nutrients from the soil.

I snapped a photo back then of a plant suffering just such a fate, something I assumed to be a kind of dandelion that had languished in standing water for more than two weeks.  That prolonged bath caused the poor thing to wilt at the time when it was trying desperately to offer up its seeds and flowers for all the world to enjoy.

The rains still come and go, something that makes for an unusual summer with temperatures lower than normal, humidity levels much higher than normal, and ground still so over-saturated as to give rise to flash floods when the sprinklers are turned on (and don’t get me started on people watering…).

Nevertheless, I found great joy in seeing that wounded life recover fully with the help of some sunshine and a lot less water.

Here is what I saw only a week after I captured that first image.

A smallflower desert-chicory (a.k.a. Texas false dandelion; Pyrrhopappus pauciflorus) burgeoning with new growth ()203_0324

As I suspected, it was a type of pseudo-dandelion.  To be more precise, it’s a smallflower desert-chicory (a.k.a. Texas false dandelion; Pyrrhopappus pauciflorus), a beautiful flower indeed.

The new stalks it grew to replace those it lost rapidly made their way toward the heavens, each burgeoning with flowers and seeds.  I felt as though it was rushing to catch up with its original schedule, and it was making that possible by exploding with growth.

A smallflower desert-chicory (a.k.a. Texas false dandelion; Pyrrhopappus pauciflorus) burgeoning with new growth (203_0327)

Yet all things come to and end.  Just a few days ago, I saw its beauty torn from its roots as a slobbering canine enjoyed a bit of digging and pawing.  One really can’t blame the dog for taking advantage of the first bit of dry ground to be seen in months.  Of course, it didn’t have to dig too much to find mud.

What question lies within your heart?

Loki sitting in front of the window with an inquisitive look on his face (176_7674)

Ne’er has there been, nor ever will there be, a more inquisitive creature than a feline.  But curiosity rests not at the pinnacle of this trait, although it likely represents a vast majority.

How often I comprehend from just a look the inquiry hiding behind the predator’s eyes.  How easily I discern from a simple meow the probing to which I submit myself.  How cunning the interrogator as they manipulate me at depths I ne’er before comprehended.

A treat, you say?  Throw the ball?  Pet you until your purring rumbles the furniture about the room?

These things and a great many other clear requests—sometimes demands—flow through the air betwixt cat and me as easily as water streams between riparian grounds.  By look or voice, or both, questions stream forth clear as the typed word.

And I answer, for it is mine to do so… my obligation, my right, my joy.

Could—would—any other be so inclined or capable?

[Loki]

Rarity

“All splendid things are rare.”

— Cicero

Rare tranquility at the lake (203_0380)
Rare tranquility at the lake (203_0331)
Rare tranquility at the lake (203_0387)

And my favorite pier, the place where I go to sit above the water and meditate, to lose myself in my surroundings, to let my soul wallow in what brief bit of nature can be found here in the heart of Dallas. . .

Rare tranquility at the lake (203_0373)

[work continues to occupy a great deal of my time, yet I found a few moments to offer these images from a recent walk—while I sit here waiting for someone else to do their thing so I can finish solving a problem; ah, the joys of infrastructure spread all about the country like so much flotsam. . .]