Harry the Little Hurricane

Harry got his name when he was still a little swirl of wind and rain far out in the Atlantic. But Harry had aspirations. He wanted to become a grand vortex of mighty winds, driving the ocean in front of him far onto land. He wanted his rain to drown the land, far beyond his storm surge, his wind to blow down trees, powerlines, to blow the very walls off the buildings in his path.

Destruction, afterall, is what hurricanes like Harry do!

But, unfortunately for Harry, the sea was not very warm. The currents of the jet stream were unfavourable.

No matter how hard he screwed up his face, squinting his eyes, and blowing as hard as he could, his winds fell flat, he couldn’t draw enough water and energy from the ocean. Long before reaching land, he dwindled to no more than a storm. His rains only flooded a couple basements. His winds knocked down a telephone pole. One family had to miss a Gilligan’s Island rerun. A cafe, which fortunately brewed its coffee with a cold press, could only serve ice lattes and ice mochas. A woman’s umbrella turned inside out.

It was a very depressing hurricane season for Harry. And he wouldn’t be invited back for another six years!

Oh dear. Poor Harry!