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Though I could say that of many days. I've accomplished nothing terribly useful, and I do not in the least care. It's glorious. This morning was pouring rain, wet, cloudy, rich with the scents of rain and plants and earth. (Not wet asphalt; it's been wet too long for that one, but perhaps again yet this year. That's more common during summer rainshowers.)
And now? Now it's lovely out. There's just a hint of the bottom bit of a rainbow arc, visible from bluegreen through red, to the east, against a mid-grey cloud; clouds are midgrey up to puffy white and the sky above me (or at least the sky above the pasture, which is what I can see from here) is blue. The vague blue, not the painfully clear one of a really crisp day, but I wouldn't expect that to appear with all these clouds. It's lovely and clear and cool, and I'm warm in the house. I'm sure at some point it will start to rain again.
I sincerely hope so, at least. It would be a lovely end to a wonderful weekend.
And now? Now it's lovely out. There's just a hint of the bottom bit of a rainbow arc, visible from bluegreen through red, to the east, against a mid-grey cloud; clouds are midgrey up to puffy white and the sky above me (or at least the sky above the pasture, which is what I can see from here) is blue. The vague blue, not the painfully clear one of a really crisp day, but I wouldn't expect that to appear with all these clouds. It's lovely and clear and cool, and I'm warm in the house. I'm sure at some point it will start to rain again.
I sincerely hope so, at least. It would be a lovely end to a wonderful weekend.
