Winter weather

So I thought I'd describe the weather to keep as a reference in case I needed a good description of a rainy night and as you can see it lasted for on paragraph before turning into something totally else.
It's a little jumpy aroundy (if that's the proper term) but I wanted to get it down the same way I'd written it.

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Fingers numb.
Biting wind.
A driven rain stings any exposed skin.
Waterproof clothing has a limit, eventually it becomes a heavy weight of splodge.
Hair is either blown all around or plastered down by the rain.

Paths become little more than slippery muddy tracks and roads glisten as they are pressed into service as river beds. It doesn't matter, either way you have no choice but to splash through and it's only now that you discover a hole in your boot.
And the wind is in your face no matter the direction! You're either being stabbed with the tiny swords of the rain or walking into a wind so strong that every step forward is a mission.
You've got to take down numbers and details but good luck with the when the rain makes the ink from the pen run and your notepad is little more than a mass of sodden pulp.

Inside the hut is no good, the cheap heater stops working at the slightest hint of damp. They had a good one but it mysteriously vanished with the guy you replaced.
You can't sit down that just makes it worse, instead you stand on the cold floor and attempt to will yourself dry
You take off the "all weather" jacket and it drips as you hang it on the door, it will be cold and wet when you need it again but the jacket has long since given up entirely.

Then you make the mistake of thinking of her. That last night you were together was on like this but how different it seemed when you faced it with her and a roaring fire.
You both fell asleep in an tender embrace, listening to the wind and rain casting about the earth in search of something beautiful to destroy.
Thundering in their impotence when they found that you and her were safe and in love.

There are those who would have you believe that the weather cares nothing for such short lived creatures as we but you know that they are sorely mistaken. The winter winds are vindictive and cruel, the torrential rains that sweep down off the mountains carry no love in their hearts for anyone save the hail that rattles off the roof and slowly but surely drives you deaf and mad at the same time.

Winter, especially this deep winter, brings lovers together.
But if you're alone then it's easy, so very easy, to give into those thoughts of despair, isolation and separation until you sink into the miasma of depression until there is nothing left of you anymore
except a hollow shell and that isn't you. It doesn't matter, nothing matters, nobody matters.
Then you start asking why. Why did we break up? Why didn't I do better in school? Why this and why that until you are just asking questions with no possibility of answers.
All you want, all you need, is to hear the sound of your own voice validating your existence to an uncaring universe.

As the rain begins to ease you find yourself making plans. grand plans on an epic work shaking scale. The gods may do nothing when confronted with the falling of a sparrow but by Jesus, Buddha and Allah they are going to notice YOU!
Suddenly the thunder isn't so loud, the night presses a little less close and you start to regain some feeling in your hands.
It burns but it's a good burn, a welcome heat after all this cold and you are finally able to relax your shoulders which were so tense with the effort of contorting your body into a compact area of warmth. Your knuckles crack and your joints pop as you stand straight and tall for the first time since you started this damned shift.

The time between each patrol, each skirmish with the unforgiving elements gives you just enough time to dry off and shake away the melancholy that grips your heart a little less every day.
"You'll think of her. You'll think of her every day and every day the hurt will be a little less" You read that somewhere but it hasn't been true so far.
Then there is sound, no that isn't right, there is the absence of sound. The rain has exhausted itself, reduced to little more than a few petulant drops with refresh rather than oppress. The streams and the river still flow as quick a before but there is a resigned finality to it all. They know it nears the finale.

The full moon comes out from behind the clouds and the night is no longer a singular blackness. A light dusting of snow shines in the face of the moons smile and you step out into a fresh world, the first to leave your footprint on it. and you allow yourself the small fantasy of being the only person on the planet to experience this feeling of perfect calm. This one perfect moment when all is right with the world.

But it ends,as all things must and the only reminder is a soaking wet sock thanks to the hole in your boot.