Dear Diary,
It’s been raining on and off for nearly a week. The sky has been relentlessly grey. We were supposed to get a bit of sunshine earlier, but it did not manifest as advertised; instead, ominous clouds hung over the house all day, bellyful of water.
I can bear it at first, weather like this — but after a time, my soul begins to drag around the edges. It’s as if I’m wearing a cape and small creatures from the underworld have emerged from the wet soil and are tugging it down, down. I feel the weight of them on my shoulders.
This evening, as if granted by some deity, a slim horizontal blue streak opened in the drab cover overhead — but only briefly. Soon enough, clouds riding the undercurrent covered it up again, putting an end to any optimism.
I might begin blaming these things on the gods, actually. “The gods have forsaken me,” I could say. “They’ve brought me bad weather of all kinds. They have it in for me.”
Then a winged messenger could appear and say something like, “Wretched woman, what have you done to make the gods so angry with you?” And I would reply, “Oh, I have no idea, Hermes — probably everything.”
Probably everything.
After that, I’d have to soberly contemplate what I should do to placate these gods. Sacrifice three of my best oxen on the beach? I think not: that kind of thing is not in vogue these days.
No — no, I’ll have to make something instead. I’ll have to create something to delight them.
So, that is what I will do. Then maybe Poseidon will stop sending his squalls from the sea and we can feel sun on our backs again for at least a little while.
Yous affectionately,
Jeanne