Why is it that our little perfunctory greetings of one another inevitably lead to words descriptive of the weather? Is the weather simply an introductory conversational piece, or is there something else behind these seemingly unavoidable climactic remarks? Without running the risk of being overly serious and philosophical, I think there may just be.
Weather is probably the closest metaphor in trying to interpret and understand the inner states of our lives. We are tied to the weather in ways often mystical. I know it has that effect on me, and certainly whenever I visit England, I notice its profound effect on people there. Somehow, I think, the weather is in us and we’re in the weather. Is this not reason enough for our persistent allusions to it in the niceties of our greetings and conversation? I wonder?