Jack Frost is nipping at my nose...

meanwhile, Sally Sunbeam is burning my cheeks.

I know that people the world over, particularly in countries like England where the weather is a pretty much standard drizzly gray all year, love to discuss the weather. I really think the question "Can you believe the weather today?" is what separates people from animals, among other things.

So I say with zeal, part in order to distance myself from the mangey looking dog hanging out around our building, part in plain alarm, "Can you believe the weather today?" No people. You can't. This past week has been warm, even hot. This morning I woke up to brilliant sunshine, a warm breeze, and fog covered mountains. By mid-afternoon the sky was black and it was snowing. I felt like an idiot, but I actually wore my big jacket to my afternoon class even though all I had been wearing to the morning class was a cardigan. That goes against everything I know about normalcy.

Needless to say, my latest discovery about Lhasa: the weather here will turn on you in a minute... literally. So carry your entire wardobe with you everywhere you go, chances are, you'll probably need every bit of it in the span of a few hours.

Now follow me, if you will, down a rabbit trail of reflection. Everything about this place is extreme: The mountains are extremely high, the sky is extremely blue, the air is extremely dry, the streets smell extremely like urine, the food is either extremely bland or extremely spicey, the bus drivers are extremely unpredictable, the social atmosphere here is extremely complicated.

And to top it all off, the whole place, everything about this city and the lives of the people here, is extremely saturated in idol worship.

Dare I wonder if the extreme displays in the heavenlies, particularly in regard to the weather, are anything less than an extremely merciful creator sending extremely clear messages about his extreme power and redeptive love for the people here along with his extreme displeasure in the abominations that assualt every single one of the senses and veil the hearts and minds of the residents?

Dare I?

Did I really hear a whispher of have you seen the storehouses of hail which I reserve for times of trouble, for the day of wafare and battle? Or did I just feel the hail pelt against my face on my way back from lunch?

Maybe the weather is just an idle topic of conversation that you'll never hear being discussed among the birds that gather on the powerline outside my window...
Or maybe, just maybe, it's the voice of one who says with horrifying authority get ready to answer me like a man when I question you and with captivating gentleness my compassion is stirred.

Blistering cold and blazing sun. Oh Lhasa, when will you get it?