This is just a very brief post to point out what I call a “ghost front.” It can be seen on the above map, (click it to make it bigger,) as an area of clouds stretching from New Orleans along the gulf coat and then up the east coast to upper New York State, where it quirks east across Vermont, New Hampshire, and pokes out to sea over southernmost Maine.
Just looking at it, you may think to yourself, “That surely is a front.” However, according to some criterion I’m unsure of, weathermen are relieved of bending their elbows to mark a front on the map.
If you look at past maps, you can see it once was a front. However it slammed into an expanding Bermuda High and was beaten backwards. It became a wannabe has-been, muttering, “I could have been champ,” and was dismissed. It flunked out. As drums sounded, the epaulettes of front-status were torn from its shoulders. As far as the powers-that-be were concerned, it was dead.
The funny thing is, it didn’t heed the powers-that-be. Maybe it didn’t kick the Bermuda High east to the Azores, and instead got it’s own posterior kicked, but it wasn’t gone. Like a defeated boxer, it could still create a number one hit:
Over the years I have learned to pay close attention to such “ghost fronts.” They are zombies, and one should never ignore a zombie. Today, when big thunderstorms developed on the ghost front and passed both north and south of us, I wasn’t surprised.
It is not so much that they have risen from the dead, as it is that they never ceased to be. It is only some official who called them dead.