I don't know anyone who doesn't
very much like them - the rainy
day ones. By definition, they
wear so well, compared to the
rest of us, habitually dependent
on small talk's Nice day, isn't
it, to cover a multitude of gaps.
What is it about such weather,
that they show us its mercies,
just as fair skies might have
yielded to some grating ex-
ploitation? They tell me, an
be in Florida today, to call
for putting aside the past on
Cuba. Nice day, isn't it, has
never gained by being voiced.
Yet who resists claiming it,
when it's already given?
Mind you, the prevailing tenden-
cy to indulge the rainy day's ex-
cuse for a nap, ensconced in its
sympathetic acoustic blanket and
not necessarily uncompanionably,
at that, only elicits the genius
of the rainy day person. Who can
count, the rainy day people whose
name it would have been tempting
to know, selfless promises lost
as well, in respectful silence?
Such weather may come again, as
much as we may grasp, it doesn't
do anyone any good to expect it.