I really resent it when weather forecasters assume what kind of weather I prefer. Who decided that everyone’s idea of “a beautiful day” was the same across the board? And who said they could make their cutesy little newscaster grimaces when it looks like rain and fog are on the way?
Who doesn’t love rain and fog???
Once again, we are the recipients of the older and wiser version of a formerly angry, young, reckless hurricane, so today we are engulfed in the fog and rain of Miss Jeanne, past her prime.
I love this weather because it always feels like you’ve been given a pass for the day, like it’s totally OK to be forgetful and dreamy and slow-moving yourself. Nobody seriously expects you to be productive, or go out and run errands, or finish cleaning out the shed.
Sunny days want something out of you, the sun demands an accounting of your time and whereabouts. The sun watches you, and you can never please the sun.
Rainy days say ssshhhh, relax, don’t sweat it, just relax, you’re cool.
I love it because I get paid to read books, and nothing goes better with a book than the sound of rain.
When it rains all day this close to the ocean, the fog rises up from the sea and the kettle ponds and the rivers, and the rain comes down from the sky and the clouds are only feet above your head, a tall person could touch them easily, and everything is water, within and without. A watery embrace, but not like hugging someone you just broke up with, and not like Davy Jones’s locker. Like you’re walking through water, meeting no resistance, and all the water molecules in your body are singing with the joy of reunion.