It's raining, it's pouring
The old man is snoring.
He went to bed and bumped his head
And couldn't get up in the morning.
I used to wonder as a kid what snoring had to do with the rain when I heard this poem. And how exactly did that old man bump his head?
I awoke to blahness this morning, but mid-morning the sun was out for a bit. Then I saw that an approaching patch of green and yellow gloom and doom was coming as I looked at Doppler radar. I sat on my porch eating lunch as I heard the distant rumbling thunder, the winds blowing. It felt nice. The winds reminded me of Euan, and I said out loud that I wished he was here. Two minutes later, I watched a white butterfly flitting around across the street, making it's way over to where I sat. Euan was definitely around, and I started bawling my eyes out for the second time today. Once I had some control, I headed back into the house. And now, 5 minutes later, it's raining buckets outside, I can't even see the street.