Sometimes it is the beauty of a tree, it’s branches bare with the sky as a backdrop that catches me unaware. Familiar as these trees might be on my journey from work, still their beauty enchants me. The sky might be the pale blue of early evening, or grey and low, pregnant with the prospect of snow, sometimes a dazzling golden pink with clouds that would put any Michelangelo to shame.

The shift in perspective, from the March Wind as a mad but familiar ally to alphabetically named storms viewed as entirely dangerous and oppositional, reflects climate change and our changing attitudes toward the weather.