Bipolar meteorological conditions

Pouring ice cold rain; no, sun shining as if it were brillig. Looks like it will clear; no, rain on the roof like a ship at sea in a squall. Home from a climbing workout, and the cat is blown across the street in an alarming blast of wind. Next thing you know, blue skies whisk in from the north, and the theme music is that happy part from the Peer Gint Suite, the bit which brings to mind Bambi and Thumper hopping around in a meadow full of posies.
Off to delve further into Wharton's short stories. Odd to me that she, evidently an intelligent, well-read and written woman, would have any urge to write about supernatural doings. Same with Elizabeth Bowen. It seems discordant that such acute intellects would bother with things that go bump in the night.