I sit back here on my bed, Abi and Charlie next to me, listening to the constant chirping of birds. It is a somewhat frantic chirping, perhaps because it has been pouring raining for days. The skies are gray and foreboding.
I go to get another cup of coffee and stand at the patio door, where I see a cluster of birds, dark against the gray sky, huddled on the bare branches. Then, without preamble, they all suddenly fly away into the clouds.
Then a mourning dove flies in and settles on the top of the fence.
I stayed back here all day yesterday because somehow I just can’t see me trying to clean up paint drips and putting things in place when it is so dark in there.
I need light shining in to make decisions. And with an apartment with only four windows, that is not always possible.
My ankle thanks me though. But it should thank the weather. Because if it was sunny and light outside, I know I’d be in there doing this and that. I am just hard-wired that way.
I have always been in perpetual motion between pauses. A whirling dervish. Some people have a hard time getting going. I have a hard time stopping.
The gray days don’t bother me. They have never depressed me in any way.
Instead I sometimes see them as a possible backdrop for a novel or movie plot where the weather is indicative of the subject matter, and the music cues something sinister about to happen. A film noir in the making.
Some people need sunlight like oxygen. I could probably live where it rains daily and I doubt it would affect me.
And so today I suppose the pupsters and I shall be back here in the bedroom, me propped up by pillows, watching the birds flap about the fence, seemingly hesitant to land.
I’ll have another cup of coffee and ponder just what I want to do in the living room space.
I am thankful for these gray days, because it makes me give pause and reflect. To slow down and notice the smallest of things.
The waving of the tall plumes of ornamental grasses that have turned brown, but still sway in the wind outside the bedroom window.
The sound of the rain as it pummels the roof.
Silence interrupted only by the gathering momentum and alternately the slowing down of the rain as it follows a weather pattern.
Days like this are gifts really. Well, every day of course is a gift. But days that make you slow down and reflect are special days, even though the skies are dark.
Because we are more aware of our thoughts, of what is just outside the window.
The simplest of things. The everyday moments, that, cumulatively, make up a lifetime.
So enjoy whatever day you have been given.