New York City, July 26, 2012

[No stars] Unpleasant, out of order, and with a false promise of novelty tacked on at the end. A quickly darkening morning dumped rain on everyone; the rain steamed off into thick, intensifying heat. Disgusting and backwards — but, oh, not in vain, the forecast said. A derecho was brewing, the forecast said. The ferocious straight-line variety of storm that had ravaged Washington D.C. in June would be making its New York debut. Derecho! Toward dusk, dark gray clouds piled in, with pink still showing in the east. Widely spaced, heavy drops of rain hit the windshield of the black Escalade. Pedestrians caught out on Madison hunched and scurried along, clinging to the cover of awnings. Over the 65th Street Transverse, crossing the Park, the sky had a green tinge. Or was that the window tint? Then a full downpour, making a cheap, tinny sound on the Escalade’s roof. People on cross streets huddled in entryways and under scaffolds, helpless before the might of the derecho. And then? The storm spilled all its force in that one splash, rolled over, and went slumbering off to sea, with snores of fading thunder. The city lay there in a puddle: awake, bemused, and a little irate. A hurricane at least supplies the anticipation, the days of studying the projected and re-projected storm track, the distraction of trying to judge its intentions. The derecho, gusting along in its own hype, skipped straight to the disappointment.

Weather ratings range from zero to five stars.