The cloud cover is so thick
that the street lights remain on
and the foliage gives off the most muted green.
Everything is soggy.
Nothing has a chance to dry,
as rain and mist tag-team
to saturate leaf, skin and roof tile.
It’s a wet cold – it penetrates the bones,
and I start believing that the sun is a dream;
a temporary hallucination that peaks through a 10-second opening
before retreating back into a parallel universe.
And I retreat, too –
into a cozy haven
of blanket, and book, and coffee.
Bless the rain. Bless the cold. Bless the clouds.