Like a sailor I should be able to learn the subtle signs that herald the approach of a major front, the faint whiff of ozone on the breeze, the almost imperceptible darkening of the sky, the half-a-degree temperature drop that would otherwise be overlooked but here warns of the storm to come, warns it’s time to hunker down because this tempest can’t be outrun, you can only fasten the sails and ride it out. As captain of this ship I should be equally attuned to my own vessel and the microscopic changes in wind and tide which on an otherwise calm, clear day precede the sudden hurricane, the darkness, the lashing rain and swelling waves. I should be able to see this coming from miles off and prepare myself; haven’t I weathered these storms before? Yet still they come crashing down upon me like freak whims of nature to leave me soaked and trembling in their wake, checking for broken bones and leaks in the hull. When will I learn to recognize the approach of these forces so I might make myself ready, to meet the storm head-on if not to beat it to port?