S.A.D.

Well, that was the worst June ever. Ireland is famous for its rain, but in truth it doesn’t happen as often as we let on. We are just better at complaining than most. Still, three weeks with rain every day. Eventually you start feeling cheated. I staved off the grey-sky blues playing summery pop – Beach Boys, PAS/CAL and, strangely, Panda Bear let me make-believe while splashing along the footpath to catch a bus. Weekend sojourns in sunnier climes left the weekdays more bearable.

Yesterday morning I woke in a cottage in Waterford to a breeze whipping clouds across a blue sky. I was reminded it was July. A whole new month and whole new weather patterns. After a morning walking on the beach the heavens opened, but it didn’t really matter. You take what you can get.

Today is warm and grey and, as has so often happened these past few weeks, the rain begins two minutes before I leave for lunch. By the time I hit the sandwich shop the skies have cleared and the sun is beaming. I go to the park and throw my jacket over a sodden bench. Sitting, eating, fat drops from the recently wet leaves above patter on my back, hair, sandwich. Everything is steaming in the midday sun. I haven’t eaten in a park for three weeks (in June!). I am unreasonably happy. Later on it rains more and shines more and everything in between. My mood adjusts accordingly.