hail unfinished unrefined.

It was May when I started out without water, probably intentionally setting up situations which could turn badly when the temperate weather breaks to the early hot days of summer.  There is danger in not preparing, but danger is a muted sort when it's asked for.  After a few failed trips, trips without flaw, where wheels rolled, air pressure stayed firm, and sun only peaked from beyond clouds, did my abilities grow.  The risk harder to take.  My form, my shape improving.  No risk of exhaustion.  A miss turn, an extra 60 miles becoming less of  hardship, and yet the inevitable drift towards summer left the likelyhood of danger looming.  One hot day.  One day when the clouds blow away and the sun, naked burns down and for me, only 45 minutes would be enough for a substantial burn, but the risk, the risk was for at least two hours.  At least.

Which is why when the winds blew it was not surprising, when the clouds drifted away it was of no concern.  This was planned, this was secretly wanted.  The pity, the story, the passion.  A burn, dehydration, the struggle back.  The sympathy.  The hardship.  But then the wind kept blowing.  And it blew back in the clouds and the sun went away.  Weather cooled and rain fell.  The turn towards summer is tidal, and this shift not expected was an unconsidered possibility.

Hail is like an insult and snow is like hope.  We all want snow, and are greatful on those unexpected days.  There is fear in hail.  It falls from the sky and beside it's bruising of vegetation, it's ping, it's ding on metal, it's slip, slide.  Outside of our binaries of snow.