It rained. And then it rained. And then it rained again. And again. On and off all day, and cold. I ran out to the garden in between drops to see what I could see. Took care of some mending. Moved some stuff from one pile to another in an effort to overcome chaos. Chaos is still way ahead.
Hearing the word rainy always reminds me of my seventh grade French teacher, Mr R. His first name was René, which was terribly exotic in our community, and I had a crush on him and his accent for the entire school term. Flash forward some great number of years. I'm visiting my widowed aunt and it turns out he's her new boyfriend, and he's inexplicably called Rainy. And he's nowhere near as dashing as he was when I was in seventh grade. Plus he's lost his accent. Some things are best left alone.