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  • A cloudy outlook for everyone, says the weather announcer on the radio.
    Grey clouds, rain clouds to the horizon. A grey outlook.

    The garden is very green. No sun scorched patches of grass, the roses are clenched against the wind that rattles the trees together.

    I can’t remember a July like this, but that doesn’t mean there hasn’t been one.

    Summer has been taken out of me and replaced with this swirling and uncertain greyness.

    The sun is up there somewhere, very occasionally she flashes her skirts causing everyone to look up and comment. We all joke that she is hiding because Derek scared her off with his new shorts, Vic invested in some new sandals, I put my sunglasses in my bag.
    On these terms how can we lure her back? In snowshoes and so’westers?

    How can I lure the sunshine back into myself?

    People are losing their homes, their possessions to this false summer.
    It is worse in those places, but even here the forest is flooded and the campsites are swamps.

    I wonder if I’ll ever need to eat an ice-cream too fast again, to stop the sticky melt from trickling over my wrist.
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