It's been raining here for a week and the weather is all anyone seems to speak of anymore. "I hear it's supposed to last ten more days," people bemoan to strangers on street corners who, like them, are fumbling with their umbrellas as the wind gusts around them. Umbrellas are useless in weather like this. The rain is more of a mist than anything and it lingers in the air making everything damp, regardless of how you shield yourself. It's like Belgian rain which I've always considered to be visible humidity rather than rain. Real rain actually makes a noise when it falls and is best when it involves lightening and loud pangs of thunder.
Maybe I'm crazy, but I find this weather to be hugely romantic. I love the cozy overcast sky and I use the drear as an excuse to stay in bed all day, drinking coffee in the morning, wine in the afternoon and gin in the evening as I watch the sky change shades of gray through my bedroom window. I listen to love songs and sing along, I litter my bed and window ledge with magazines and books half read. I write bad poetry. Days- weeks- like this are my forte, and I'm enjoying this miserable weather immensely.