Walk Between the Raindrops

I'm a man for all seasons (think of me as Sir Thomas More's younger brother and feel free to call me William More or Less (I'm used to it)). I am adept at complaining about the weather no matter the season. It may well be my superpower, but I hate to brag.

Our summer has been mostly hot and humid with the heat part in the nineties far too often for my liking and with very little rain. We're suffering what meteorologists call a 'rainfall deficit' I suspect because saying drought makes people think of the Mid-West Dust Bowl in the Thirties and we already have a great pandemic without needing evocations of the Great Depression as a chaser.

Earlier in the week, we had some rain and some of us had more than others of us and around the parts of the state I hang in we didn't get too much more than wet, but we did get some rainfall and, here's a surprise for those who know me, I was glad for the rain.

Shortly after mid-day, it stopped and I thought it had ended and went for a walk only to learn the rain had only paused and then returned. I tried, as the song says, to let my smile be my umbrella and nearly drowned. But only nearly.
-bill kenny