What fell last night as a serene blanket of snow, covering the city in a cosmetic masque of the fairytale variety, is now swirling round in a satanically tormented confusion.
Should it be snow or water? Should it fly or settle? Assuming it should fly, which way should it go? Should it whistle past the unsuspecting pedestrian, blinding them like smoke, or should it stick to them like tar? It just isn't sure. Likewise, the wind isn't sure which way to travel or at what speed; so it has settled for every direction and every speed.
I think I would offend no-one by saying today's weather in Reykjavík is bad. Or at least it was for the entire time it took me to write the first paragraph - since then, the sky has actually turned blue and I can now see the small island of Engey just off the shore. Serious.
It's not as if I went off for coffee in the middle, or had a short nap; that's just the way the weather works in Iceland. You may or may not be familiar with the old Icelandic saying: "If you don't like the weather, wait ten minutes and it'll probably change", but I never took it literally before.
Other people will swear the saying ends: "Wait ten minutes and it'll probably get worse", which seems cynical, but on the other hand, the sky has just gone grey again.