This rain

This rain is constant. The sky churns from an ominous dark to an equally threatening gray and back again. Lightning pierces the horizon and thunder rumbles through the clouds. I know that way up there the sun is shining. But down here, it's rivers and streams rapidly flowing to the lowest spots, rushing their way into the gutters. It's slick streets and soggy land. It's moody and dark, this rain is, and very against my spending any time outside. Rain is the weather rebel, the playground bully who kicks sand in your plans by suddenly becoming interested in tetherball just as you're reaching for the rope. Yeah, that's rain. Stealing your plans, staying way longer than welcome, always demanding attention, making sure that everyone is talking about it. Even a good thing, a nourishing thing, a thing that other parts of the country need desperately, can be too much, can make itself no longer welcome, at least for a while. I've reached that point with this rain. I reached it five minutes ago. I want to play tetherball, dammit, and I don't appreciate the bully breaking into my plans.