Rather, there is the mighty rush of wind, caused by air being suddenly displaced by a huge volume of water falling out of heavy rain clouds. Having decided to write a blog post about this extreme weather event, and having written the first sentence, there's a smashing sound over my right shoulder; the wind has blown two flowerpots off my windowsill in the front room.
Quarter to six in the evening. Outside, it's still bone dry, but the trees are waving furiously. The temperature outside has fallen from 35C to 28C in a matter of minutes; lightning flashes are getting closer, the weather radar shows the line of storm clouds approaching from the south.
Yes, there was a weather alert from RCB, the government security centre, delivered via SMS at midday. "Attention! Today (11.07), storms, strong wind, downpours and hail. Possible interruptions in power supply. Secure items that might be carried off by the wind."
Electric lights flicker off and on, but no power cut yet. Although it's only quarter to six, it's dark outside. The first spatters of rain. Large drops, now getting more intensive. Petrichor! That smell of rain on dry soil. Thunder is almost continuous now, one long clap merging with the next. Proper rolling thunder. This makes it hard to judge the interval between a flash of lightning and its associated thunderclap.
I have lost internet connection, so I will unplug the router from the mains (my neighbour told me of a local family whose router and computer were fried by a lightning strike on their house last summer). And while I'm at it, I unplug my laptops from the mains too (four and half hours of battery power on this one, so I can keep on writing). The temperature outside has fallen to 24C. Seven seconds between that flash and the thunder. On my phone, I continue to track the storm's progress as it continues to head north by northeast.
CRACK! About one second after the sky outside turned violet, a sudden loud boom to the east. Rain lashes the front of the house. The forest is dancing wildly in a frenzy. This is the crescendo. Will any trees snap? The aspens in the forest next door are fragile, one came down earlier this year. It's approaching six pm; according to my weather app this should pass by seven. Below: motion blur shows the violent movement of the trees and bushes buffeted by wind and rain.
Power is lost for a second but returns after a beat. There's still nearly three hours before sunset, but with the lights out, it's almost dark. Temperature outside now 21C. Constant rolling thunder and rain blown perpendicularly against the house.
It's now ten past six – do I notice that the intensity of the wind is subsiding? The thunder rumbles on, but yes – the rain is no longer coming down at an angle; now I can hear individual droplets from the guttering. The savagery has passed, as quickly as it came Just regular rain now. The trees are swaying gently now, birds are darting this way and that having waited out the storm in some sheltered spot.
Let's plug the router back into the mains. I don't fear a direct lightning strike any longer. It's 18:25. The internet is indeed back. The temperature has stabilised around 21C. Quarter to seven. The trees are still. It's still raining gently, so I won't be venturing out, yet.
Today and yesterday I had been experiencing the dog-day effect – the hottest part of summer. Yet the dog days are associated with Sirius rising with the sun on 23 August, and here we are in early July and we've had already two days with the temperature topping 35C. Despite having slept well (nine hours), I feel drained of energy today. I didn't go for a walk yesterday, although I did all seven sets of exercises. Below. Google issued this heatwave warning for my area three days ago.
[I feel for the farmers. Those who have invested in hailstorm netting will be comforted by that fact. This year's apple crop looked excellent; on my walk on Tuesday I was marvelling at the density of fruit. There will be much windfall after this storm; unripe apples still have a commercial value for food processing (I've already seen large trucks with trailers laden with green apples leaving Chynów). But early windfall apples command but a fraction of the value of a ripe dessert apple sold directly to a retail chain in late autumn.]
[UPDATE, morning 12 July. Many branches have been ripped from trees and lie scattered on my drive. The railways did not fare better – it seems the line from Ustanówek to Góra Kalwaria is out of action as a replacement bus service was introduced late last night. Mutual honouring of tickets between Koleje Mazowieckie, SKM, InterCity and Warsaw buses introduced as well.]
This time six years ago:
The weightless economy
This time nine years ago:
Seven days in Warsaw in seven photos
This ten years ago:
Best Bacon From Poland: ad on London bus, 1969
This time 15 years ago:
Sunset across the tracks, Nowa Iwiczna
This time 16 years ago:
The storm the forecasters missed
This time 17 years ago:
Peacocks in the park
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