Summer
still seems distant even though it’s near mid June. It’s the gray these last few mornings the chill in the dawn, the damp dark settling over late in the evening.
The sky has a glow even at ten pm but the stormy skies drive me in instead of out.
Just a week ago the days shone like July, full of a building heat, an invitation to the pond, late afternoon on the shady screened in porch. Yard needing to be mowed, garden to be weeded the desire of a long glass of water with lemon and ice. The recognition of just how gratifying a glass of water can be. the joy of lightening bugs sighted in the trees.
But this morning, leaving the house early for a meeting it could have been late fall if not for the green on trees or early spring. And as I watch myself shift I realize again how bound we are to the weather around us. I wonder if there is anyone not effected by the day we find ourselves in the midst of? What would it be like to expect consistency from the sky?
I can’t imagine and so instead pay attention to my own barometer and the quiet that settles around me between the rain’s patterned fall.