Sometimes, despite all your best efforts, it rains. Sometimes you lose sight of sky, sun and hills and the view is obscured by a shifting wave of grey. Wet cobwebs, close enough touch (net curtains soaked in seawater), close enough to taste (an old dusty picture frame with a zing like the tines of a fork). Sometimes the rain on your face smells of salt sorrow and regret.
Sometimes you have days like this and you just have to let it fall.
