Wednesday, December 2, 2015

December 2, 2015 - The Grey Days

It was one of those days that gets into your bones.  The temperature was in the low to mid 30s, which is quite warm for this time of year, but it was the greyness and especially the rain that made it one of those days that seems to find a secret way through your skin, clear to the bone.

Not a fair-weather friend to be found.

I remember when I was young hearing older people talk about the “weather in their bones,” and I thought it was strange because the weather never got into my bones.  Not then it didn’t.  You can blame it on old accidents or arthritis if you want to, but I think it’s something different.  I think as you get older, your body just becomes more sensitive to the cycles of the Earth, including the weather.  It becomes more sensitive to people as well.

It was grey as far as the eyes could see today.  The constant almost-frozen drizzle caused continual shivering.  Even the animals were miserable, and they have such nice fur coats to wear.  Looking out into the ocean, there was no sign of anything changing soon.  The ocean, which often appears so blue, is really just a liar who dons the appearance of its latest friend, having no true fa├žade of its own.  Today, there wasn’t a fair-weather friend to be found.

I do my best thinking on the grey days, though.  The distractions are at a minimum and so are the people.  I can think about things as they really are and not as I wish they would be.  Sometimes that’s hard because reality is a tough taskmaster, but usually it’s a good thing.  Usually, it’s as refreshing as the cold and washed air that comes with the grey.  The sun has a habit of making even the shoddy gleam brightly.  The days that get in your bones have no problem calling things exactly what they are.

Grey days are like hunches, when you just sort of know that something is going to happen.  The older you get, the more hunches you get until your life is just one big hunch because you’ve been there and done it all many times over.  Predictions become too easy.  Prophets are not born but are properly aged and fermented, and this is not done in the sunshine.

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