Fifty Shades of Grey

I think I've seen all fifty shades of grey in the sky this week, but not one ounce of blue. My run today on a trail through the misty, frozen woods was hauntingly beautiful, but brought little but chill to my heart. My mood drops, only picking itself up to little spikes of anger or irritation, then flattening out again to a dull flat sameness.

I admit, my heart is tied to the sunshine. Even with the cold, if those rays are falling on my face, I'm good. Like the rest of my generation, I sang along with John Denver and his "Sunshine on my shoulders". Truer words were never written.

I suppose what makes this week even worse is the feeling of betrayal. Oh sure, I know better. I live in the Pacific Northwest. When the weatherman issues a chart that looks like this, I should know enough not to pin my hopes on it. But is one tiny ray through the clouds too much to ask for? Today was supposed to be that little round yellow globe with the number 52 beside it. Instead, on my run I noticed that the plants alongside the trail were rimed with ice that has not melted once this week. Another runner said his portable thermometer read 33 F, and that was at noon.

Still, I am fortunate to have accumulated over the years an arsenal of cold weather running clothing. I can be completely comfortable, and even become warm, while running in the fog-chilled damp 33 degree air. Without that, I truly would go insane, so I guess it's time to thank God for small blessings. And perhaps beg for a bit of sunshine while I'm at it.