This weather

These are highly variable days, if the variation you seek is gray and damp and cold, then this is the time for you. The time for this, alas, is not May.

… 7, 8, 9, 10 …

There. All better now. Anyway, as I so often say, now apparently a full six months out of the year, Michigan has one job: Keep Canada in Canada.

And for six months of the year Michigan is lousy at its job.

For the record, the first snowfall this past year was on Halloween. I’m still running an electric blanket 186 days later just to knock down the chill in the bedroom at night. Such that, when my lovely bride retires to the bedroom before me she asks if I would like it if she turned on the blanket on my side of the bed. “No, but thank you,” I say. While thinking “It is, after all, May.”

And then I retire to the bedroom later, after working on this or that or typing away at this or that or just staring at the wall and discover it is cold bordering on silly in the bedroom and I go to sleep with the blanket on the third highest setting.

In, once again, May.

We said in March, “Ya know, if you have to stay at home and stay inside, at least this is the time of year to do it.” Sitting at home calculating the scant few hours of gray not-night probably would summon ill spirits. We lost out on the end of the school year, saying goodbye to a crop of students, and we’re losing spring because ‘Thanks, Michigan’ and a lot of the early long days because of the weather. And those senses of loss, big and small, will somehow compound upon themselves. These aren’t the really important things we’re losing, loses which will be a burr in the psyche for the entire age, I fear.

Forty degrees in May is plenty enough, thanks, is what I’m saying.

Not enough degrees. You know what I mean.

Anyway, we went on a walk, and I wore a jacket in May. Here are three photos.

It rained this morning:

And these raindrops are marching off to … somewhere else in the cycle of life, I’m sure. They’ll be absorbed by the plant and turned into something a blade will come along and cut down sooner or later.

Or an animal will come along and knock the droplets into the soil where it will eventually seep in ever smaller bits and drips until it joins the water table and follows the natural path to a nearby stream.

Or it will evaporate.

Do you think raindrops — the ones you assign personality to, I mean — have any thoughts on that when they’re up in the clouds? I bet it’s a lot of “I’m excited to see where I land this time!” It’d be better than worrying about it. “I’m going to land in a dog bowl again, I just know it.”

Sometimes I see a raindrop on a leaf or a flower and I wonder. It’s a childlike thing, I suppose. Intellectually, I know the whole system is basically devoted to capture, but when you see it like this the engineer in you has to wonder about efficiency.

There’s going to be more seasonal inappropriate wardrobe choices over much of the next two weeks. And then, of course, suddenly it will be summer.

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