Somewhere it is summertime, but not here.

It is the 16th of June.  As I type this the rains that urged me to get a ride to work are subsiding into a drizzle.  I am attired in corduroy pants, knee socks, a long-sleeve shirt, and a wool sweater.  Yes, a WOOL SWEATER IS NECESSARY ON JUNE 16 in this region of absurdly long, damp, chilly springs.  Had I not less than a week before a trip to Miami, Florida, I would probably lose my mind at this point. Even with that beacon of hope, sanity is slipping precariously close to the end of my grasp.

This interminable spring seems to be worsened by the small teaser bouts of warm, sunny weather.  This weekend we really believed that summer had finally bloomed.  Yesterday and today have proven otherwise.  The flashes of sunshine lift us up into euphoria.  Then returning rains and chill dash us to the ground, shattering our joy into a thousand shards and making it very hard to leave the house.

I try to keep the faith that summer will arrive in Eugene, the way it does elsewhere, but I must pray, “Lord, help me in my unbelief.”

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