|This morning just outside|
She's right. I do find that hard to believe.
The opposite, not so. Seasonal Affective Disorder, fetchingly known by its acronym SAD, affects millions of people, who stumble through dark days and nights, sometimes even helplessly, when sunlight appears non-existent. My son was made SAD by working nights at a window frame factory, where there were days--well, weeks--when he never once saw the sun. The phenomenon was, quite frankly, SAD.
But cloudiness as sweet relief is a stretch for me. Ms. Bosscher is right.
Clammy old cloudiness is a way of life if you live around the Great Lakes, where I was born and reared. Weather currents pick up lake moisture like a chamois and keeps it all afloat in skies as endless as they are colorless.
This morning, my doors and windows are wide open because the rain's familiar but rare percussion outside makes for sheer delight. We're not in a drought--Siouxland is almost always blessed with enough moisture to raise a crop. But it was getting a little scary lately, temps in the 90s and the only water out back came from spigots. It's just not the same.
|Big Blue Stem in the rain|
There's not much to say about it, really, but "Thanks." I had nothing to do with it. Last night, or sometime early this morning, it just came, a gift. No one I know seeded a cloud or tried something bizarre or outlandish to turn on the faucet. It just came, like manna. When I got up, it was raining, pure and simple.
|Happy green tomatoes in the rain|
"It's not what you want," my mother-in-law used to say, "it's what you get." That's Great Plains wisdom.
|My wet socks left out in the rain|
This morning's thanks is for what I'm hearing just outside my window--the delightfully awkward beat of a lovely soft rain.