Friday, July 31, 2015

Suppose it were Friday cvii: Rainy day people

  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 our past on
  Cuba. Nice day, isn't it, has
  never gained anything for the
  day, 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.

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