Rainy Days and Mondays

It's good to have a rainy day, every now and again.

Today is one of those days. And, it is good.

Of course, I'd much prefer staying in my PJs and drinking an extra cup of coffee, curling up in my still-warm bed and reading the paper, my puppies by my side.

Later in the morning, still in my jammies and having switched to a hot cup of tea, I'd write poetry or dig out my journal and write a little essay on a Very Big Thought.

That is the perfection of a rainy day.

But, it's onward into the day, pretending that it's just another day calling to get work done.

It isn't. It's a rainy Monday at the end of April. These are the days custom designed for contemplation and easy rhythms, and we ignore them at our own peril

Today is a day to sit and let life soak in, to drench oneself in the dreariness of life so that, when the sun returns, we can rejoice all the more.

Both are gifts, rain and sun. But, Longfellow said it far better than I.

The Rainy Day

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the moldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the moldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.