— with apologies to the Weather Network, which had nothing to do with this storm —
🍵 A Storm Brewed in Our Own Little Teacup
There’s a whisper going around the halls that some grand celestial force is sending trouble our way – as if the angels gathered for tea, spilled the pot, and the whole mess washed down upon Blenvale.
Ah, if only!
A divine accident would be easier to forgive.
But no – this cloud was home-grown, mixed gently in the communal teacup, stirred with a wooden spoon of misplaced trust, and left to steep until it had just the right strength to knock us off our chairs.
🧭 Choices, Those Mischievous Little Things
It’s funny how choices behave.
You make them lightly – a nod here, a vote there –
and off they go, like children wearing oversized boots, splashing in puddles they were never meant to find.
And later, when the water drenches the hallway carpets, people marvel:
“Where did that come from?”
From the boots, of course.
From the puddles we pretended weren’t there.
🕊️ The Innocent Carriers of the Bill
And here come the gentle souls – the people who never asked for a storm, never wanted drama, only wished for peace, quiet, and perhaps the occasional elevator that didn’t break down when carrying groceries.
Yet they will be the ones paying for umbrellas they never ordered.
It’s always the way, isn’t it?
Just like when your cousin in Limerick borrowed your raincoat, lost it somewhere between the pub and the poetry reading,
and somehow you ended up apologizing to your mother.
🌬️ Warnings Blown Away Like Autumn Leaves
There were warnings.
People pointing at the sky, saying,
“That cloud isn’t smiling.”
But the response was always the same polite shrug:
“Oh, it’s only a bit of fog. Nothing a good brisk walk won’t clear.”
Except now the fog has decided to settle in for the winter,
bringing relatives, luggage, and opinions.
🌈 A Closing Thought, Soft as April Rain
What’s coming, dear Blenvale, is no act of God.
The heavens are entirely innocent in this tale.
No – this is simply the weather that forms when a community sighs, looks away, hopes for the best, and forgets that hope works best when paired with action.
But take heart: weather changes.
Storms pass.
Better forecasts can be written.
All it takes is a community willing to reach for a new pen.
Disclaimer: This post is satire and opinion. Read full disclaimer.
