Sequestered

It was cloudy here yesterday. That bright kind of cloudy that makes you reach for sunglasses if you get in the car even though there aren't shadows on the ground. The kind of cloudy that in the Midwest still counts as a nice day - no precipitation, not even grayness. But when you've gotten used to brilliant sunshine and a blue sky that is somehow both clear and deep (and the last time you saw clouds was nearly a month ago), yesterday's kind of cloudy puts you in mind of naps and casseroles and never upgrading what you threw on when you first got out of bed. I read a book cover to cover (On Beauty by Zadie Smith, which I'd been looking forward to because her first novel, White Teeth, was amazing and wonderful; this one, not so much), answered a couple emails, thought about and decided against researching some new stocks to trade, thought about and decided against ordering some stuff online, did a load of laundry, grazed the contents of the refrigerator, exchanged fewer than 250 desultory words with my husband, and watched Mermaids on HBO. Put me in mind of the Saturdays I sometimes had in Chicago on snowy December or rainy May days when the sky was dark and the dense clouds appeared to begin about 13 inches above your upstretched arm. Different clouds here, but the same reaction. It was great. Relaxing, refreshing, solitary, largely non-contributory - a nice retreat. And today? The sun is back and so am I.