Penultimate Gray

Everything is wet today, but I haven't seen a single drop of rain, nor do I feel a mist in the air. Instead, it's as though the day had broken out in a cold sweat. Everything looks clammy— the damp moss on the mulberry tree, the dark pavement, the damp lawn, the blackened branches of the oak trees, the gray sky. Everything is still, even the dewdrops hanging from otherwise bare twigs. The dewdrops are the only bright thing I can see from my window— little jewels that somehow manage to distill pure light from the overcast sky. If only real rain would fall, then there would be bits of light everywhere.