Today was 65 and cloudy. It was humid, but not the kind of humidity that makes you sweat profusely until the scale reckons you unrecognizable. It was a refreshing kind of humid that reminds you that spring is, after many months off, finally among us. For some reason I've always been drawn to these overcast days. The sunny days garner all the love and praise, but it's those cloudy ones that go along unloved and underrated. The warmth is there, along with the everpresent threat of a beautiful downpour replete with peals of thunder. With a cloudy day comes the opportunity to sit on the porch and look out on the environment surrounding us. Reflections abound. We can look up and see what the sky fully holds. Without squinting.
But I can't focus because there's an amateur guitarist plucking away. It's incessant. Which is almost like the sun on those admittedly splendid summer days. It comes at you and doesn't stop. We seek the shade and the artificial coolness. Cloudy days, however, are all shady...
A sampling of what was on my mind. I guess I'll write about Boston tomorrow.
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