The last two months have been unusually dark and damp, even by the standards of midwinter in Seattle. I've been hearing a lot of chatter at the office, at my kids' preschool, and on social media about how done everyone is with it. Well, as much as you can be done with the tilt of the Earth and the circulation of the atmosphere.
On the one hand I'm inclined to agree. I don't imagine I enjoy the little indignities of winter more than anyone else. I don't like having to wipe raindrops off my glasses before settling in to drive or work. I don't particularly enjoy standing in the rain while my daughter insists on taking two minutes to buckle herself into her carseat. Wet socks and cold feet depress me. It will be nice to drive home in daylight once March rolls around.
On the other hand I think it's interesting to consider how different the enveloping wetness of Seattle is from the overwhelming majority of the universe. There are dozens of worlds in our solar system with solid surfaces. Only two have the kind of weather that absorbs and cascades down on you. I'm very curious about Titan and would love to visit there if I were given the chance, but I have no illusions about which of the two wet worlds I'd rather call home.
From where I sit there are only 14.7 pounds per square inch of air between me and eternity. The bulk of reality is completely indifferent to human existence. It's not necessarily hostile to us, but is completely unconcerned with the life of Earth. Our life beats on in a tiny oasis in a vast desert. The water circulates and penetrates, and the dark of winter is the price we pay for the flowers of spring and the fruit of autumn.
Arizona provides a much better simulation of the desert of space than the Pacific northwest. It's a lovely place to visit this time of year, but I'd prefer to never spend another summer of my life there if I have the choice. The coldest days this winter in Seattle, when it snowed intermittently for a week, were no colder than the average day in Chicago or Milwaukee or Minneapolis.
On Monday, after a long spell of consistent overcast, the patches of clear sky coalesced into a clear view out into that vast nothing. Thanks to Rayleigh scattering it was a lovely blue rather than the black of night. On Tuesday the clouds returned and the temperature dropped, and precipitation came as big slushy floating wisps of ice in Kent. Today we were back to rain. Despite the failings and struggles of the people who live there, the Earth is a good place.
