lovely and gray

Today in Providence, it is quiet with a promise of rain.  I think it would be a really good day to be a Sunday.  I like soft and gentle Sundays.  And somehow, because the weekend was so big and bright-- so filled with high strong energy and I worked straight through it-- albeit with no few jaunts out with the pups to capture the green green green of the fields-- today feels like it should be a curl up on the window seat with a delicious book and hot tea.

Hmmm.  Funny how it doesn't go that way.  It is, in fact, Monday and the world outside my window is quite busy with its start of the week activities.  The trucks rumbled down the streets at 6am to collect the weekly garbage.  The school bus slowed traffic to a halt as it waited for small legs to climb its three deep steps.  And I watched as people hurried out their doors, travel mug in hand, black computer bags slung over their shoulders as they hopped into their cars and sped away to the busy busy world of a Monday morning.

So very Richard Scarry.

Only slightly more odd about my misalignment with the first day of the week (that I am quite certain would be better suited as the last day of the week) is the absence of rainy day photos.  I went trolling through my flickr set in search of a photograph that speaks to the muted silver cast that sits over everything in this moment, but I came up empty-handed.  It seems I only take photos on sunny days?

Really. 

The one above is from last December when I still lived on the farm.  I don't know that it was a rainy day, but the feeling in it is how I feel in this moment-- so it works for me.

I also came across the one below that has sunlight caught in an empty pod before the beginning of Spring.  If ever there were a photograph that summed up my personal philosophy-- that would have to be it. 

Something (or someone) will light your way on the path, always.  Even on rainy Mondays.

bisous, e