It’s raining.

This is not, perhaps, extraordinary, except that this is the first case of all day, pouring take-no-prisoners rain since we moved down here to Arizona. I went to take a nap, as I usually do–I work better with a nap around three-ish, since I’m tired and groggy anyway and now that I have the luxury of setting my own hours, I find I’m a lot more productive if I kick off for a siesta and then come back and pack in a few more hours before dinner.

And I couldn’t sleep. I laid in the bedroom, and the light seeping around the edges of the blinds was not the usual streaming glorious golden light, the tawny light you associate with old Clint Eastwood movies (which were filmed in Italy, but it’s wonderfully similiar), light with hot, physical presence–but blue-gray, watery, drizzly light, light that made me feel empty and cold and sad. I laid in bed for five minutes, got up, and slept on the couch with all the lights turned on.

The funny bit is that I used to live in Oregon, which is grey and drizzly most of the year, and I have no memory of being so affected by it. I used to love the rain. And a fresh, really thick snowfall in Minnesota is also not without its charm, since you sit inside and feel warm and snug and protected and the light, while gray, is sort of crisp and cozy.

I dunno why it bugged me, but it did. Go figure.

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