Days like these, Elizabeth Gilbert narrates my life.
I wake up at seven a.m. to the gray of early evening and go to the gym in lieu of my usual outdoor. I stretch in the rain-cooled air, climb onto the treadmill, and run. My muscles heat, my heart sings. And when I'm winded, I walk back home - feeling the water coat me like a combination of Mary Magdalene's tears and the sweat of cherubic Buddhas.
Home again, cold and shimmering tired, I change into a baggy, mustard-colored sweatshirt I've had since middle school, pull on a pair of sweatpants and thick cozy socks, and make a pot of herbal tea.
For a while, I sit and watch the water falling through the air outside and just breathe the rich scents of hyssop and mint and sage until the mere scent of them is not enough. Life is a diaphanous, wonderful thing when it's simple and quiet and you can luxuriate in each individual moment, drawing each one out and stretching it into the next.
If every day were a rainy day, I wouldn't get much done - but oh, what a beautiful, drizzly lack of accomplishment that would be.