Its rays are golden, warm, inviting. It invites frolicking, skipping and all that jazz.
I loathe it. The bright weather brings a frown to my face. I long for the grey gloom of home, of Scotland and of Washington. Rain is my ideal, sun my nemesis.
I want the clouds back, the bitter cold bleakness of a northern winter (or is it still fall?). The chill of unremitting cold, the frost and the fog and the misted breath. The sun has chased it all away, relegated to the frosted underhalls of the Winter Kings
Is this strange?
It is madness, this sunlight, madness incarnated as life-giving rays of light.
I languish before a computer screen, tip-tapping away, my eyes roaming. I live the troglodytic existence of a student and reminders of nicer days, of carefree life without papers, without academic reading, without the soul-sapping banality of graduate school fill my heart with the bitter-black gall of hatred, of jealousy.
My web browser is a wealth of opened tabs, of Marxist vitriol, of Constructivist ramblings, but one page stands out. One page brings me hope, brings me despair, brings me distraction.
It is the weather page. I keep my eyes glued with the obsessive’s frequent refreshing. I look for a hint of foul weather to come.
“It will not be long,” I croon to myself. Relief is coming, for this is winter (or fall?), this is Scotland, and it cannot stay nice out forever.