Climate Of Australia __link__ Site

The old man had laughed. It sounded like a dry thunderclap.

He sat on the edge of a cracked red cliff overlooking the Southern Ocean, his beard a tangle of spinifex grass, his skin a patchwork of sun-scorched earth and ancient rainforest moss. In one hand, he held a dripping coil of monsoon cloud. In the other, a handful of dry, dust-fine sand. climate of australia

“They try to fence me,” he whispered. “They plant wheat where I want spinifex. They build cities on river plains that I have taught, for sixty thousand years, are only loaned by the flood.” The old man had laughed

Then he would close his fist. And the Wet would become a memory. In one hand, he held a dripping coil of monsoon cloud

“I have always been violent,” he told the ghost of that memory. “I gave them the Fremantle Doctor to cool their fever, and the Brickfielder to remind them of the furnace just over the hill. I made the Snowy Mountains so they could dream of winter, and the Simpson Desert so they would never forget summer. I am not getting worse. I am getting more myself .”

A young woman, a climate scientist from a university in Melbourne, had once come to sit on this very cliff. She had looked at his data—his temperatures, his rainfall totals, his shifting ENSO patterns—and called him “unhinged.” “Polarized,” she said. “Getting hotter. Drier at the edges. Wetter in the middle. More violent.”

The old man called himself the Climate of Australia, and he was tired.