The Allure Of A Dreary Day

Today isn’t the kind of cloudy, rainy day that sends me seeking shelter and drawing curtains closed. It’s not the kind of overcast cloud-cover that oppresses and bears down sternly over us, letting fly drips of icy spittle and gusts of bone-chilling wind. It’s gloomy, but not gloomy like Eeyore, or angry like Oscar the grouch. 

It’s a benevolent gloom. Somber, dark warmth shrouds the hills and valleys, thick and grey like a wool blanket. Warm, fat drops might have fallen earlier; they’re dripping from eaves and patio furniture and hedges and trees. There is a thick, buttery breeze that’s not too insistent but still commands attention. This is a springy kind of gloom that brings promises of tulips and budding trees, baby birds and pleasure boats on the water. Greens seem greener, wind chimes gentler, and birdsong more potent in this kind of weather. The grass is a carpet thickened with dew. Gulls circle, their cries dampened in the haze, where the edges between sky and cloud, air and ground are indistinct.

This is a mysterious gloom. A beautiful gloom, beckoning. An enticing, inspiring gloom.

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