The Beauty of Gray
Depending on where you live, this might seem like an absurd statement... but constant sunlight becomes a terrible oppression. Every day an eye-watering blue sky, every day bright light and sharp shadows, with only the occasional respite of a cloud passing to give you shade. No breeze to stir the heated air and cool your skin; nothing but the glare of perfect illumination all around you.

There is some respite in the rainy season, but like most of Florida's weather it's violent, abrupt and short-lived: a deck of black clouds just appears out of a perfect sky, taunts your skin with restless winds, and then splits open with a thunderous explosion, pelting the earth with a shock of rain... all of it come and gone within an hour. You walk out onto a world glazed in brassy puddles, licked in sunlight-emblazoned water, feeling dazed, like the world has just slapped you.

But once in a while, some ephemeral combination of off-shore depression and kind air flow will bring a slow, drowsy tropical rain, an overcast sky, a world where your shadow is indistinct and you blend into the air and the wind and the ground.

Yesterday it started raining at 5 PM, the kind of slow rain and gray sky that said, "We're in it for the long haul." And it rained. And rained. And rained more. It didn't stop. This morning when I woke up it was still raining. And raining. I ate breakfast in the kind gray light, feeling The Cozy.

It's finally stopped, though the sky is still leaden and tired and gentle with clouds. I find myself wistful. Another week of it wouldn't be enough shield against the coming sun-drenched days. But perhaps we'll get another rain like this, soon. I hope so.

To rainy days!


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