The last few days in Washington, D.C. have featured blank, gray skies with virtually no color variation, moderate temperatures, and stagnant, unmoving air. A good friend of mine characterizes days like this as "non-days," which I think is a brilliant description.
My moods coincided perfectly with these past few bleak and depressing non-days. During them, I found myself overcome with grief from multiple sources: a family member learned for certain that her leukemia was no longer in remission and that she will soon be undergoing a bone marrow transplant; I learned that my friend's dog, who is nearly 14, is quickly dying of an illness that came upon him suddenly; and this week included the anniversary of September 11, which, as a Washingtonian who has many friends in New York City, is always a difficult time for me. In my grief-laden state, I felt indifferent about pretty much everything.
The only real bright spot for me this week was that yesterday I saw my all-time favorite massage therapist, who over the course of the last couple years has become a dear friend. She is a very astute observer of both people and weather, and she has a healing touch that never ceases to amaze me. While I received a massage from her, I felt the week's grief releasing its grip on my body, mind, and spirit. As we parted ways it started to rain. My friend looked skyward and said, "the weather explains everything."
The rain picked up quickly and I got soaked on the way home, but that was fine by me -- at least something was actually happening on the meteorological front for a change, and it seemed fitting that the skies were experiencing their form of release just as I was experiencing my own. Plus, I felt that what little remained of my grief was being washed away by the afternoon shower.
I've been reflecting on my friend's statement about the power of the weather since we parted company, and I think that she is correct -- the weather really does explain a great deal. Today the sun is showing its lovely face for the first time in several days, and all aspects of the world seem brighter along with the weather. People are smiling while they run their Saturday errands; Eastern Market is full of a bustling joy; the wildlife, which hunkered down a bit during the bleak period, has resumed normal activity with what seems to be gratitude; and my fiance just put on a lively jazz CD that is cheering everyone in our house. With the sun, my feelings of grief and indifference have been replaced by feelings of hopefulness and keen interest.
Thank you, beautiful sun, for coming back to see us -- having missed you in myriad ways while you were gone, I am all the more grateful to you today.
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