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
saturate leaf, skin and roof tile.
It’s a wet cold. It permeates the bones,
and I start believing that the sun is a dream –
a temporary hallucination that peaks through for a moment
then retreats back into a parallel universe.
And I retreat, too –
into a cozy haven
of blanket, book and coffee.
Bless the clouds. Bless the rain and the cold.