WHETHER WEATHER COMES OR GOES. WHO KNOW BEST, GRANDMA OR THE WEATHERMAN?

Out West where those mountains poke their nose into the sky. The moon looms high and stars shine bright, the sun each day burns clouds away, wind blows strong, then winter snows come along and we string along and wait for spring to do its thing.

Weather changes, works in strangest ways to tell the world it’s all OK, all’s supposed to be that way on a typical day for reasons only seasons know.

The West’s a place where every face wears a trace of wait and see. Whatever will be will be. The decision’s made by TV which relies on weather-wise surprises that can befuddle.

Weatherman predicts a puddle, we get a flood. He calls for heat. There’s snow and sleet. A sunny day? Clouds here to stay. Hurricane? Weatherman’s got water on the brain. Tornado? Where’d it go?

Who could predict it more accurately? Grandma’s afflictions? Television’s electronic predictions? We’ll just have to wait and see.