Symphony of Thought

Why is it that on rainy days, when the sun hides behind its gray pullover sweater and the atmospheric breath hints at moisture, that my mind assumes the mood of the day?  The mood of a day that is opalescent and somber; burgeoning with the desire to remain alone yet in the presence of others - as a nursery school teacher during her students’ naptime, or the sole living visitor in a graveyard.

The mood is not that of depression.  More like thoughtfulness.  Thoughts stemming from a cottony substrate in the inner folds of my mind.  They make their way to the surface in a bubbling ale froth, where they conjugate briefly before bursting their dreamy contents into the atmosphere.  The darker the day, the thicker the froth:  a virtual symphony of thought - albeit unorchestrated and out-of-tune.

My mind reels from the carbonation cacophony.  Nevertheless, many creative concoctions are born during these times, as though my subconscious has suddenly deemed there to be a shortage of creativity.

Don L. Waddell, 1994