As I rolled over in bed to spy on the gathering dawn today, a headline formed itself around the words “Mainely Gray Dawn.” I wasn’t even sure if it was time for dawn, so I checked the Internet and saw that dawn wasn’t scheduled to occur for another seven minutes. Et voilà! Today’s daily dawn photo barely suggests pinkness and glow. Just a soupçon of sunrise, if you please. Give me some gray for a change.
Everyone around these parts has been commenting on the perfect weather this summer. I can’t even remember the last full-on rainy day, never mind a week of drizzle and gloom that lasted like a sore leg after knee surgery. Instead, we’ve had daily diamonds sparkling on the sea, dry air like Colorado, and clouds arranged at dawn and throughout the day like clip art tagged “awesome.” Enough!
The truth is, I can only stand so much perfect weather. Same for perfect motivation, work habits, and friendliness toward fellow humans and dogs. I seem to have a limited supply of goodness that gets depleted by use. Then comes a gray day, a depression, even. Instead of planning the next five weeks of podcasts and learning a bit of HTML code before fixing my wife’s coffee just the way she likes it, I tap Netflix on the iPad and spend 40 minutes watching “Heaven Can Wait.” I go downstairs to the corner cupboard for a handful of potato chips and an Oreo. In my mind, I gather all the things I’ve said that I would do but haven’t yet and probably won’t. I stuff them in a duffel bag and beat myself on the shoulders with it, thinking “You loser!” with each whack. I go to Best Buy and wander the aisles, lusting for new models of anything with a charger.
Somewhere in the fertile gloom, good behavior and happy thoughts regenerate. The tide turns. The sun pops out of the ocean east of Prouts Neck like a fat, red balloon. I make a list of five priorities on Teamly. I do the dishes, make the bed, and walk the Yorkie. It’s a new start, my friend. Even when I can’t see the sun at dawn, something’s always rising.