Thank you. I wanted to play with the idea of climate amnesia. It was inspired by an overheard snippet: somebody saying that “once upon a time it used to be autumn, a time for sparklers and jumpers, and now it’s become ‘fire season’.”
I've grown up with frigid and snowy winters, and I've been thinking about how mild this past winter was. Reading this made me realize how much I ache for the older winters even though they were pretty brutal at the time. Thank you for sharing this beautiful piece.
Yes, I can understand that ache. Even though it’s brutal at the time there’s something about it that makes you feel quite alive (in retrospect, perhaps!)
Incredible! There is something eerily familiar in this that mirrors the blunting and swimming together of seasons here in Oz. As a Canadian familiar with a lifetime of stark seasonal change, I feel like the memory of that fades a little each year.
Yes, I can imagine! I find it a bit strange how here in the UK people swear that summer has always been like this. But I never remember this many heatwaves…
This is quietly devastating. The sterile futurism of the Weather Museum contrasted with the narrator’s vivid, bodily memory of winter creates such a haunting emotional weight. The line “It looks warm” broke me. And that final sentence is a perfect ember of resistance. The whole piece reads like an elegy for something we’re being told to forget. Beautiful, chilling work.
It is as if a Jedi Knight has walked through the world and with a gentle arc of his hand, whispered, "These are not the season's you are looking for." Lovely echoes run through this piece.
you, my deer friend, are a work of art. it’s not hard to hold you as the Rembrandt of literature: soft, delicate, real. with such a
pleasant tone among bold imagery. this speaks volumes into me. i welled up around the inquisitiveness of this little girl and her preoccupied mum.
this kind of futurecasting work is an area that is very attractive to me, i’d like to explore it, and The Weather Museum could very well be the manual. this is more than mere entertainment. you are changing me on a cellular level, rewiring the way i see. you are just so good.
Thank you Pen, this was a really lovely comment to receive. You’re too kind. It’s an area I’ve explored in my novella (which this was taken from)—I had a lot of fun creating that world.
The language is stunning and the meanings both sinister and beautiful. How many different ways can one say beautiful? Thanks as ever for the writing, Judi
I hope you don’t mind me interjecting. I have a different view and am not trying to be argumentative but instead offer a different data point.
My childhood memories almost never have a weather component but instead seem nearly always built around the Bermuda Triangle mystery of Who, What, Where.
Eg Ter and I swam in Irish Creek; Dan and I danced with Barb and Ellen in the high school gym, etc
"The silence where winter should have been had presence." Stunning
Thanks very much Elizabeth! 🤍
You capture something here of our childhood winters, with your "navy sleeves pulled over my fists, steaming breath catching in the knit."
Such a thought provoking piece for all our futures...
Thank you. I wanted to play with the idea of climate amnesia. It was inspired by an overheard snippet: somebody saying that “once upon a time it used to be autumn, a time for sparklers and jumpers, and now it’s become ‘fire season’.”
One for you, I think @Elizabeth Lamont
I've grown up with frigid and snowy winters, and I've been thinking about how mild this past winter was. Reading this made me realize how much I ache for the older winters even though they were pretty brutal at the time. Thank you for sharing this beautiful piece.
Yes, I can understand that ache. Even though it’s brutal at the time there’s something about it that makes you feel quite alive (in retrospect, perhaps!)
Thank you 🤍
Incredible! There is something eerily familiar in this that mirrors the blunting and swimming together of seasons here in Oz. As a Canadian familiar with a lifetime of stark seasonal change, I feel like the memory of that fades a little each year.
Yes, I can imagine! I find it a bit strange how here in the UK people swear that summer has always been like this. But I never remember this many heatwaves…
gorgeous, stunning, chilling 🤍
Thank you! 💗
This is quietly devastating. The sterile futurism of the Weather Museum contrasted with the narrator’s vivid, bodily memory of winter creates such a haunting emotional weight. The line “It looks warm” broke me. And that final sentence is a perfect ember of resistance. The whole piece reads like an elegy for something we’re being told to forget. Beautiful, chilling work.
Thank you very much, J :)
I wrote it as an elegy, so I’m glad it came across that way.
Talk about layers...
So much here to digest. Really thought-provoking.
This phrasing grabbed my attention: "... softened by some engineered acoustic." Well done.
Thank you! 🖤
It is as if a Jedi Knight has walked through the world and with a gentle arc of his hand, whispered, "These are not the season's you are looking for." Lovely echoes run through this piece.
This is good. I like the world you have built here. x
Thanks Douglas :)
I loved the storytelling, the details and just everything about this. It truly was a captivating read.
Thank you! <3
you, my deer friend, are a work of art. it’s not hard to hold you as the Rembrandt of literature: soft, delicate, real. with such a
pleasant tone among bold imagery. this speaks volumes into me. i welled up around the inquisitiveness of this little girl and her preoccupied mum.
this kind of futurecasting work is an area that is very attractive to me, i’d like to explore it, and The Weather Museum could very well be the manual. this is more than mere entertainment. you are changing me on a cellular level, rewiring the way i see. you are just so good.
Thank you Pen, this was a really lovely comment to receive. You’re too kind. It’s an area I’ve explored in my novella (which this was taken from)—I had a lot of fun creating that world.
well then, this guy (me) can’t wait to see your complete novella. hopefully in print. :)
"It was already smudging." <345
🫶🏻
The language is stunning and the meanings both sinister and beautiful. How many different ways can one say beautiful? Thanks as ever for the writing, Judi
Thanks for reading! 🫶🏻
Always!
Dreamy and basked in soft layers of light❤️
Thank you 💗🫶🏻
The flame is flickering.
:)
The best and most vivid childhood memories are almost always connected to the weather we had on that particular day..
a day spent fishing on your uncle's boat..
a snowball fight..
a family picnic canceled because of rain.
How sad that child will have memories of plastic bags floating in the subway tunnels but never the smell of wet mittens drying on the radiator.
Thanks Deer Girl .. for this little nudge in that direction.
Thank you for reading 😊
I hope you don’t mind me interjecting. I have a different view and am not trying to be argumentative but instead offer a different data point.
My childhood memories almost never have a weather component but instead seem nearly always built around the Bermuda Triangle mystery of Who, What, Where.
Eg Ter and I swam in Irish Creek; Dan and I danced with Barb and Ellen in the high school gym, etc
I think it’s very normal for people to have all kinds of different childhood memories. Sounds like you had more of a social focus.