Rainy Days and Fridays

It’s raining.

I usually like the rain and all the romantic notions surrounding it. The final scene of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” usually comes to mind. Holly and Paul locked in an embrace. Cat smooshed between them.

Rain.

Bipolar in nature. A notable, tangible literary device denoting an atmosphere of gloom and melancholy reflecting a character’s state of mind. And at the other end of the spectrum, promising growth, cleansing and rejuvenation.

The rain came two nights ago. Not gently and soothingly and even remotely similar to the “Serenity Series Sounds of Nature to Sleep By” CDs,

but rather like a freight train.

Angry and forceful and loud.

Waking me from blessed sleep at four in the morning announcing its arrival. Hours later, it left for the day and I appreciated the freshness left behind and REALLY valued the shallowness of the remnant puddles allowing the vehicle to shine and stay polished for another day.

But today the clouds have settled in with the stubbornness of a two-year old. No gentleness in precipitation but rather an in -your -face appearance at my window. Not lulling me to sleep but rather obnoxiously reminding me not to expect to have a good hair day tomorrow.

But, I will not begrudge the earth a desperately needed soaking. Even if it includes a smattering of,

shall I even mention it,

sleet?

For I will make myself a “special” tea and pop in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” and view the weather outside as the universe’s attempt at making my practical, work focused and errand filled day more quixotic.

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