Time Stops Rain

Rains. It always rains here.
I used to not mind the grey. It brought light to things that usually people don't pay attention to. To things I usually don't pay attention to.
Like the color of your socks. The golden gleam on the wristwatch my grandfather gave me when I was 12. How light blonde Trey is, and how her olive skin is flawless and is actually glowing. Which makes me jealous. Hannah's boots show it's outstanding quality underneath the drizzle.

I used to not mind the grey. It accentuates the warmth in the smallest places. Like the corner between your neck and left shoulder. The faint beat of your heart behind your left earlobe.

When it rains, strangely, I seem to unable to remember what it's like when it's not raining. How does it sound like, smells like, looks like. The grey puts a heavy blanket to my senses and memory. It is now. Now and no other time.

Now when it rains time stops still while everyone else is running. Running to avoid the rain.

I think I shall stay and try to remember how once I used to not mind the grey.

The Best Remedy

Wednesday is Wotan, or Odin's day.
Somehow something related to knowledge or enlightenment often happened to me on Wednesdays compared to the other days of the week.
Friday is my favorite day. It's the shortest longest day before weekend. The strange paradox of this day is exhilarating.
I hate Saturdays because usually I feel so alone.
Sundays are worse because suddenly the weekend is going to be over and a new week will start.
Monday is by now a monster, fed by so many bad thinking of Oh-How-I-Hate-Mondays.
Tuesday, I think, has that middle-child syndrome. Of being there but not really being there. Never really gets noticed by people who fusses more on Monday and Saturday and Sunday.
Thursday is the strong and silent type, because people who pretend to be procrastinator, but actually knows a great deal more of better, will actually run errands on Thursdays. Because Thursday is Thor's day. You can almost always count on Thor.

"So what do we do now?" You asked as we sat feet on thighs underneath the kitchen table.
I think I will bring Tuesday a bowl of soup, sit with her and talk about what people should think about the months of the year.