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I Complained About the Weather

I Complained About the Weather

It turns out you can complain about the weather in writing — and the weather writes back, and does exactly what you asked.

12 pages · hardcover 8×8" (20×20cm)

Ages 6–12$52Deadpan and slightly dangerous

4.8 on Trustpilot

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Every word, start to finish. The pictures come next — painted around your child, from one photo.

  1. For Maeve, who wrote in.

    Dedication

  2. The picnic was canceled at eleven. The rain had been warned. It had been given every chance. It came anyway, straight through the sandwiches, and stood in the potato chips. Some people would have sulked. By eleven thirty, Maeve had found a pen, and the good paper, and an envelope.

    1 of 12

  3. Nobody writes to the weather, because nobody knows the address. Maeve wrote TO THE WEATHER on the front and mailed it into the wind. The reply came in two days, by cloud, on official gray paper. *Complaint received,* it said. *Please specify which weather, and why. Use one form per sky.*

    2 of 12

  4. Maeve specified. At length, in list form, pressing hard enough to be legible on the next three pages. The rain had ruined one picnic, two weekends, and a haircut. It rained on the way to the pool, which was insulting. Item one, underlined twice: rain.

    3 of 12

  5. The rain stopped. Not eased. Stopped, all of it, everywhere, like a faucet. For a week this was excellent. Then the puddles went, and the grass went brown and crunchy, and the worms went somewhere worms go. The kiddie pool stood empty with its hose lying beside it, since the hose ran on rain too, in the end.

    4 of 12

  6. A less thorough complainer might have stopped there. Maeve reread the list. The wind had stolen a kite, slammed one door on one thumb, and turned an umbrella inside out in front of everybody. Item two, mailed first thing Monday: wind.

    5 of 12

  7. The wind went the way the rain had gone: completely. The kite would not go up. The laundry would not dry. The smoke from every chimney sat down in the street like a rude guest and stayed all afternoon. Flags hung like dish towels. The whole town smelled of everything at once, since none of it could leave.

    6 of 12

  8. Item three: clouds, all shapes, for loitering. The office took every one. The sky went flat, even blue, edge to edge, like a lid on a pot. It was perfect weather. It was perfect the next day, and the day after that, and there was nothing in it to look at, so nobody looked up again.

    7 of 12

  9. Maeve sat on the curb and went through the paperwork. Every complaint upheld. Every request granted, promptly, in full. The weather had done exactly what it was told: the sky was empty, the yard was brown, the air stood still as a closet. It had taken four days to fix the weather, and three for the world to get boring.

    8 of 12

  10. There is no form for taking it all back. Maeve checked. So the last letter was not a form. It was one word long, and it did not specify which weather, or why, and it was the hardest one to write. She mailed it before she could change her mind.

    9 of 12

  11. Maeve waited by the window all evening. The sky did not say anything at all. It was very good at that. It had had a lot of practice lately. Dinner happened. Homework happened. The sky stayed shut, and Maeve stopped pretending not to watch it.

    10 of 12

  12. The rain came back that night, in no hurry, trying the roof first, then the window, then the dry yard, which drank it without a word. The clouds came in behind it, all shapes, loitering. On the doormat in the morning lay one stamped note. *Complaint upheld,* it said. *Tuesday will be perfect.*

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  13. Tuesday was perfect. It rained until lunch, hard, with wind in it. Then the sun came out on a yard full of puddles, and the clouds went by doing their slow shapes: a ship, a dog, an office desk. Maeve spent the afternoon standing in the deepest puddle, soaked to the socks, filing no complaint of any kind.

    12 of 12

$52
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