One of the things that I hate about living in Florida is the fact that it’s the Sunshine State. I actually am not a big fan of ol’ Sol, and would probably be happier in Seattle. Accordingly, one of the few things that I like about Florida in the summer (and late fall) are thunderstorms and frequent showers. Unlike many here, who apparently watch the Doppler radar with trepidation, over fears of a missed golf game, or boat outing, I watch it with hope. Hope that is often dashed, because often, one will see a huge storm heading one’s way, only to watch it fizzle out as it approaches.

This happened all afternoon yesterday, in which I could see a vast amount of heavy rainfall over the Bahamas, but as it approached the Palm Beach County coast, the reds would turn to yellows would turn to greens, and then entirely disappear, all the while it continue to storm fifty miles off shore. It’s doing exactly the same thing today. I’ve never heard anyone on the local weather discuss this phenomenon. Is there something about the difference between the land (even as low as the land is here) and the sea that dries out the air as the storm approaches? I’m guessing that it’s being fueled by the humid ocean waters below, but I still don’t understand why it dies before it even gets here, when it’s still ten or twenty miles from the coast.

[Update at 1 PM]

It’s continuing to threaten us ineffectually, though a few showers are starting to pop up along the coast. Patricia suggested that we go for a walk. “Maybe it will make it rain,” she joked.

You guessed it. Just after we turned around and started to head back home, it started to sprinkle. Then it started to come down harder.

“You know,” I said, as we walked/trotted, dripping, “it will quit just as soon as we get back to the house.”

And that’s exactly what it did.