I sit here scribing out my innermost thoughts, as the sky darkens into night, and a wild Alberta wind howls around the eaves, soon Luna shall rise and begin once more her eternal dance across the heavens, and I watch. It is beneath the glimmering silver of Luna that my best work forms, and letters lance across the page, like the lightning in the skies. However, at the time I scribble out these paltry words sol still burns balefully above, peeking now and then from behind the Nimbo Cumuli that darkens the day. Earlier the wind howled and screamed across the wastes, sure it nearly bowled me over, then came rains pelting with a berserker fury, and soon after it was still upon the land once more. I happened to think of how it is that the weather here is like life, whether it is tempest tossed, or gray and gloomy, or even bright and gay.
It is moments like these that I realize that the shaper of the heavens had a strange sense of humor, I watched as the tall grass rippled like waves upon the ocean sea, but when I looked at my feet, the appeared to be trying to reach out and grasp me, so greatly did they strive it near appeared to be the writhing of a great many serpents. But whether we are driven by the winds, like a rudderless vessel, or in some becalmed moment the weather here resembles life. Indeed life is humorous, if one takes the time to notice the humor within, much like the Alberta weather.