There are days when the weather sets your mood, no matter if you work indoors or out. Today is one of those days.
It has been well under the freezing mark for over a week, so the sudden rise to 60 in January, should be beguiling but is instead off-putting. The air doesn't feel right. It's both wet and dry, so that even the lightest coat seems too warm, but the bare air on your arms feels clammy and disturbing. The wind is alternately howling and lying completely dormant, so that all of the normal outdoor sounds keep fading in and out of focus. The sun, when it shines, is bright and glaring with that faded quality particular to winter, that makes it seem like it is streaming through a dense fog before it lands, thuggish and plain, on the windows of your car. But it won't stay out for long, and it darts in and out between ever darkening skies with clouds that are moving in the wrong direction, creating an optical illusion of speed where none exists. A storm is coming, but it is strutting leisurely into position, taking its time to set the proper mood, almost as if a dinner party is being laid with everything from soup to nuts and we all have to wait, course by course, for the dessert to finally arrive in a puddle of oozing black chocolate and blood red cherries.
Today would be a good day to open all your windows and let some fresh air blow through - but I'm not a big fan of demons or demi-gods, witches or winged creatures, so I'll be keeping my windows closed tight.
Today is a good day for a fight on a beach, the wind tearing the words from your mouth and tossing them hither and yon onto the salty air. It is the day for a horror story, to curl up with the best of King or Lovecraft and let yourself be carried away by the gusting and groaning of wood and steel. It is the kind of weather for mischief and magic, for waiting. Today is the kind of day to keep the doors locked but all the lights on, because in this weather, just about anything can happen.
Today, a Klingon would believe, is a good day to die.