How's the Weather in Osgiliath?

When I was eight, after summer school, I would go stay at my mother's workplace. I had stolen a copy of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Two Towers from my sister (because she said that it was "too old" for me) and was working my way through it, slowly, skipping the Elvish I couldn't pronounce, during the long, boring hours between two and six.

I would sit beneath a mesquite tree while the afternoon monsoon clouds rolled in, alternating between reading, examining three rusted nails hammered in about half-way up the tree in a small triangle, and staring at the sky, imagining I was a hobbit on a desperate quest to save the world.

Which is why, today, as Katie and I walked to the grocery store, I pointed at the unsettled sky and said, "It's Frodo going to Mordor weather."