Today didn’t actually dawn, it sort of emerged — as a leaden gray splotch. The sky is gray, the grass is gray, the streets and buildings are gray, even the air, gray. The world is awash in dreary, a study in Pantone 419. There’s not a hint of 292 (blue) to be found.
This is the fifth ¹ in a series of gloomy days predicted to last well into next week, but extended forecasts are notoriously unreliable. Wild guesses would, in fact, be the more accurate term. Come to think of it, weather forecasts are about as dubious as Donald Trump. They’re crazy and deceptive, but they aren’t vengeful — just fake news.
Here, on cheerless morning number five, it’s 44º with 94% humidity, a UV Index of 0 and 5 miles of visibility, with light rain. Puddles dot the sidewalks, cars splash like pontoons, people look glum and forlorn beneath their umbrella canopies. In this dampness, two hairstyles prevail: frizzy burst and limp drape. We are a mangy bunch of sad sacks.
Personally, I’m ready to exchange my lungs for gills. When I got in the car to run errands, the seats were spongy and the steering wheel was coated in a sticky film. It had the fusty ambience of a locker room. The wipers, with their monotonous back and forth rhythm, set a joyless tempo. By the time I was finished, the grocery bags, groceries, my socks, eyeglasses, everything was rain-splattered and squelchy. This weather is a huge inconvenience and my patience is wearing thin.
I feel a little put upon, to be honest. The world’s coming apart at the seams, so a small ray of sunshine would bring welcome reassurance. And clear up the moss on my north-facing side.
copyright © 2017 the whirly girl
¹ But it’s only the second time for this post, originally published in 2012. Since these long stretches of wet, depressing weather happen regularly I decided to stop reinventing the wheel and use an old idea — revised and updated. Yes, I’m a slacker — in case that’s even in question.