Rain in June

It's grey out today. Not the fierce grey that indicates a storm, but rather a dull grey that just washes everything else away. The vibrant greens of the city are dulled by the muddied sky. A fierce button of blue peeks out at the intersection of two clouds, but it seems more like a mistake, an accidental gap in the weaving of these rainclouds, than an optimistic sign of light to come.

I think I pile expectations too high onto summer's shoulders. In the winter, I expect the sodden pants bottoms, the dreary horizon, and the fatigue of overwork. "Just wait for the summer," becomes a mantra of sorts, on spin cycle in my head, along with with memories of my limbs, weightless in the waves and the taste of sweat on my lips.

But the sprawling windows that drew us to this apartment aren't sparkling. They are sprinkled with rain drops and smeared with dust. I've no longer been able to delude myself into thinking bare feet are reasonable, especially with artificial warmth seeping out of the slotted heater. 

So I check the weather website compulsively. When the seven day forecast doesn't look promising, I click over to the long-term forecast, hoping that the graph will provide me with a smidgen of sunny optimism.

And I wonder why rain is so much more upsetting in June than it is in January.