Creative Practice Day 35

It is a strange thing, to desire a weather pattern as strongly as I do I ache for cloudy days both bright and beautiful cumulonimbus triumphant in their glory backed by midday sun
  but moreso
  I crave storm days dark clouds, soft as quilts rolling over mountains, life itself falling from their wings,
  The wind itself changes it speaks to me of summers lost of wild nights and napping Wednesday afternoons
  I think unpleasant weather must be some patron saint of artists many good stories start with "it was a dark and stormy night"
  If these days could be sought out or found or purchased I would be as addled and poor as if I craved black tar My veins ache for rainwater my lungs desire moist, cold air
  I'm considering moving to Portland or London