There truly is nothing comparable to sitting at your office desk at your place of employment on a rainy Sunday afternoon grading student writing. Sundays are for families and football and friends and frolicking. Rainy Sundays are for cuddling & cozying up to a good book & communing with coffee & crock pot dinners. If it weren’t raining, I’d pack up and take the grading home. If it weren’t raining, however, I wouldn’t be at home grading, I’d be where I am now, where I arrived before the rain threw itself from the clouds and onto the pavement and grasses. It’s a conundrum, certainly.
Back when I lived in Kalamazoo, Michigan, I dated a man who would bring me jazz CDs from the public library & I’d give him the CDs I’d brought home from the same library. Just about every rainy day, I listened to the compilation album, “Jazz for Rainy Afternoons”. I couldn’t get any work done on those rainy days. I’d open my Nietszche homework or a Kundera novel or Toni Morrison’s Jazz and eventually I’d give in to the dreams that could only happen with my eyes wide open my mind at rest my heart filled with the love of love.
It’s not winter but today I’m thinking of Robert Hayden’s searing and loving poem, “Those Winter Sundays“.