Incessant rains pour down each new day as inevitable as Death.
Over chains of normally green islands, a grayness has settled in.
The already oppressive humidity, added to by the falling showers,
seeps into the Soul, bringing forth a profound lethargy of the Spirit.
The air's heaviness is stale and makes it hard to take a deep breath.
One has a tendency to address this affrontery with brandy or gin,
substituting false bravado for the dry season's wiling away of hours.
Will we then complain at the lack of rain once we no longer have it?
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mindbringer, 26 November 2016
