When gray is okay.

One downside of Minnesota = no mountains.

I rolled out of bed at noon today, after having been up around 6 to see Noopo off and crawling back under the covers.


I pulled back my curtains to reveal a low-slung, dark gray canopy of clouds, who, according to the streets, had let loose some rain earlier this morning. It didn't feel like noon. It looked more like late afternoon when the sun goes down without you ever seeing its face. But I believe my clock more than I believe in clouds, so I sunk my feet into the carpet and dragged my frumpy body into the shower. That being done, it was time for breakfast/lunch. I tiptoed through the dark, unlit house, as my mom was in office checking email, and dad was at work. I flicked on some lights in the kitchen, and pulled out the carton and eggs and a slice of toast to cook into eggs-on-toast perfection. Mom eventually joined me in the kitchen, as did Linus, and we sat there, facing the picture windows and taking in the drippy gray gloom that hung over the marshland like wet tissue. The little bits of green that were left, the grass in the yard and the lichen on the woods, glowed brightly from beneath their damp veil. 


We sat and chatted, drank our coffee, munched on pecans, and watched this lovely little documentary about a guy who lived for over a year with wild turkeys. Sounds weird? It's actually fascinating. Have a watch.


By around 3:30, it was growing darker, and Linus needed another walk to keep him tuckered for the the rest of the evening. So we pulled on our boots and wind-blocking gear, and tromped out into the dark gloom. It was lovely, it its own, drippy way. I love a few days like this before hunkering down for winter and snowy times. 


We passed quite a few other heavily-coated people with their dogs on the paths through the woods, as well as some deer poking around in the bushes a ways away from the path. Linus and I tore around the squishy backyard once we reached home, still full of energy.


As it grew darker, I walked into the marsh through the back gate, and perched myself on the fallen trees behind the fence that used to hold up our treehouse. The two trees almost cross each other, and so I sat on the taller one and rested my boots on the one directly below, nearly owling. And there I perched for a good fifteen minutes, just taking in the general dark gloom of the marsh. But it was not depressing gloom. It was an expectant gloom, like a last warning for creatures and plants to tuck themselves in before winter. The slowly rotting bark beneath my feet was slippery and soft, as was the ground in general. This, I thought to myself, is what I miss in the city. Silence. Visual and auditory silence. Sure, I could hear the hum of traffic in the distance, but that was easy to tune out. But all the movement I could see around me was the slight bending of grasses in the wind, the hopping of a squirrel up a tree, and the distant figures of deer who had been watching Linus and I play.Excluding the houses way across the marsh, the only man-made things I could see were two little pieces of plastic from our dishes-in-the-treehouse days, and a hunk of concrete from some old project. Another con of the city--trash everywhere. 


I soaked in the silence and serenity like the spongey peat below me. I heard the wind long before I felt it, as is rumbled and hissed through the trees and over the hills throughout the neighborhood. It hit my back like a great wave, and moved on over the marsh, upsetting the grass hillocks and wrestling with the last few leaves who refused to let go of their branches.


I took my time in leaving my perch. I didn't have to be anywhere or do anything. Except play with the dog, as Linus reminded me. He'd been a little disturbed by my going on the other side of the fence without him, and had taken to standing behind me as I sat on the trees for a while, before moving up the hill towards the house to lay down and gnaw on his bone while still being able to watch me. After a while, I went back through the gate, and was greeted by a wild creature, who tore around the yard again, daring me to chase him. 


We played hide-and-go-seek tag for a while, before coming in to eat leftover Thanksgiving dinner. I snuck Linus a few tiny lumps of mashed potato with gravy, which were much appreciated. He was perturbed when I sat at the table, gnawing on a turkey leg bone. He barked and whined at me, but to no avail. I informed him that poultry bones aren't good for dogs after they're cooked. Mom let him eat a little turkey, though, to make up for all the torture he was feeling.


And here I am now, on my favorite blogging perch, as seen below, sipping coffee and munching on some homemade cookies I found in the freezer. Mom and Dad are in the office with Linus, watching Elf. It's a very lazy evening.

Where I sit and write to you from when I'm at home.

Bjones and I are apparently going to hang out tonight, which will give a nice ending to this gray, gloomy day.

And don't get me wrong--I think everyone should experience a few gray days, just to slow them down and give them time to think about things and take in their surroundings. Too many gray days in a row isn't very fun, but there's nothing like a little gloom to put things into perspective.

And to inspire some good, hard-core hot chocolate consumption.

Songs of the Night:

When You Can't Sleep at Night by Of Mice and Men

Waltz in the 4th Dimension from the Donnie Darko soundtrack

The Darkest Evening of the Year  by Emancipator

Feed the Birds from Mary Poppins

Black Flies by Ben Howard