Zeus, I Presume

This day, we went on a visit to Segesta on the island of Sicily in Italy. The little Fiat sputtered and whined, working hard to get us up the hill. We were on the way to Segesta on a sunny autumn afternoon. The heady scents of Mediterranean vegetation wafted through the open windows while fulsome Italian voices blared at us from the radio. They sounded tinny coming from two cheap speakers let into the doors. My son was reading the map when not exclaiming over the views. 

White clouds were chasing each other through the blue sky hurrying to a meeting point we couldn’t see. Fresh green on the hillsides showed the effect of the autumn rains after a scorching hot and dry summer. It hadn’t rained a lot yet; the tires still billowed out plumes of dust from the curb whenever I had to get out of the way for a bus or a lorry coming down the hill. The air still held the summer’s heat but with a promise of cooler weather to come.

Topping the hill we followed the road to the parking space. It promised to be quite a walk, as only the top of the temple was visible behind a further little hill. Locking up the car, we stepped out into the grass walking a beeline towards the temple. Clouds were starting to pile up on the horizon while we walked, the billowing mass of cumulus clouds building up over a source of hot air.

Coming to the temple on the same level, we just stood there taking in its enormity. It was huge, a statement of power and ostentation. The Doric pillars were reaching into the sky supporting a tympanum touching the gathering clouds. Tourists were coming out of the temple making their leisurely way towards the parking lot. We ambled along the columns around the temple before entering into it.

By the time we got to its center, we were all alone, all tourists had left. The light had almost faded, eaten up by an expanse of black, churning clouds centering over the temple. Billowing gusts of cold wind buffeted at us while we discussed the lay-out of the interior. And suddenly the sluice opened pouring heavy raindrops on us. Within seconds we were wet to the skin. Spectacular lighting tore open the sky dousing everything into ghostly blue light immediately followed by a deafening blast of thunder.

Looking upwards into the streaming rain, my son yelled “Zeus, I presume”. He was answered by another display of lightening filling the sky and a further blast of ear-splitting thunder. “Do you think I angered him?” he asked me, still peering at the churning black mass of clouds. I looked upwards as well, noticing that the clouds showed dirty yellow fringes now. “No, it’s just his boisterous way of saying ‘Yes, mortal’” I returned.

Wet and cold, we started the retreat over the little hill with grass now slippery and treacherous with rain. Halfway to the parking, hail being driven by a screaming wind pelted us into a run for the safety of our car while lightning and thunder kept on assailing our eyes and ears. 

Further reading
Emperor Frederick II: A Model Ruler?
Naval Arms Race in The Mediterranean
Independent Corsica