Calling out “rainy”

It’s a rainy day here today, the kind where it might let up for a bit but only a fool would expect it to stop. A summer day this rainy is a novelty around here and the combination of summer light and rainclouds is almost unsettling. Instead of the dull imposing grey I’ve come to expect accompanying this wet, it’s almost white, a void of any color, just blank.

And for some reason, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I should call out “rainy” on my regularly scheduled day, that any plans or expectations should be postponed until tomorrow… that this day demands I curl up with a wool blanket and a mug of tea and just watch it go by. I’m not under the weather, unless maybe you count under the spell of this weather. But I feel it’s spell, just as surely as the first sunny day of spring demands you get outside and turn your face skyward.

Alas, it is not to be. Work beckons, crying urgent, oblivious. So I’m off, back to it.

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