I woke to text message reminding me to get up and go hiking. The rain and heavy grey clouds had a different kind of morning in mind.
15 years in southern California and I LOVE rainy days. They remind me of my childhood in Oregon, and a poem by Denise Levertov:
I was welcomed here — clear gold
of late summer, of opening autumn,
the dawn eagle sunning himself on the highest tree,
the mountain revealing herself unclouded, her snow
tinted apricot as she looked west,
tolerant, in her steadfastness, of the restless sun
forever rising and setting.
Now I am givena taste of the grey foretold by all and sundry,
a grey both heavy and chill. I've boasted I would not care,
I'm London-born. And I won't. I'll dig in,
into my days, having come here to live, not to visit.
Grey is the price
of neighboring with eagles, of knowing
a mountain's vast presence, seen or unseen.
The way I see it, v1nz, Flickr)