It’s been raining here now for 2 and a half days. I might remind you, this is almost unheard of in Colorado. Especially in July. Rain here usually follows the orderly progression of 1.) approaching thunderstorm, 2.) short thunderstorm with perhaps 15 minutes of rain, 3.) then sunshine again. That’s the natural way of things, and although I grew up in Northen California where it rains for days upon days upon end, and lived in Pennsylvania for 15 years where gray and dreary is one of the major weather patterns and the mold in the basement orders its own pizza, I still was not prepared for this rain.
People are staying inside. I ran out for elastic to make Eric a pair of pants from one of Michael’s old shirts, and I saw practically no one. Not a cyclist on the road, not even the hardcore. The neighbor across the street has abandoned his deck project (at least we think it will be a deck; it’s hard to tell just yet since all they’ve done is take up about half the sod in the yard and install some flimsy-looking sticks scattered aimlessly about in the mud). The gas grills are cold up and down the street, garage doors are closed and inhospitable, and children’s bicycles drip sad little drops onto the pavement where they’ve been strewn.
I’m thinking longingly of socks, which I didn’t expect to wear until October, and of what to make the children for Christmas. Soup sounds good too.
The sun will return, probably tomorrow, but already in my mind I’ve fast-forwarded to autumn. Will I be slightly disappointed in the sun’s return, the return of 90-plus degree days, and just bide my time until summer ends for real?
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