"Busy old fool, unruly sun..."

The sun is shining.

Dammit.

How can I be expected to concentrate on my current WIP with all those bright little beams bouncing off the shards of ice that cling to the brown, barren branches just outside my window?

What's that you say? Draw the shades? But I'll still know it's there -- and do you KNOW how long it's been since I've SEEN sunlight unfiltered by pearly gray clouds?

Conventional wisdom has it that Seattle, Washington is the Gray/Drizzly/Rainy Day Capital. But statistically speaking, my particular corner of my particular region of my particular state is, in fact, the Depressing Weather Champ. And in winter? Let's just say the local pharmacies never let the Prozac and Zoloft stock run low. No, indeed.

Generally speaking, I loves me some December/January/February/March/first-half-of-April. Not because I'm a masochist (although...well, that's another story for another day, isn't it?) but because there's very little to distract me from my given agenda. I can hunker down and get something accomplished, with no well-intentioned soul suggesting, with a sprightly smile, that I go out and get some fresh air and sunshine.*

But the past month has broken local records for lack of light. Driving the kids to school in the pitch dark, twenty minutes AFTER scheduled sunrise...clouds that hang seemingly six inches above our heads...fog banks that rise up around our cars out of nowhere...rain that hardens into ice that melts back into rain...

I'm checking the children for signs of scurvy.

You think I'm kidding.

So that glimpse of pale light struggling between charcoal-bottomed clouds is precious, I tell you. Makes me wanna strap on my boots -- the ones with the spikes, because it's seriously slick out there -- and go for a stroll. Or, at the very least, open the drapes and stand in front of the windows and just...bask. But I can't, for a deadline fast approacheth. And like John Donne, I flatly refuse to be distracted by that busy old fool, no matter how insistent his rays.**

So. Here I go. I'm eating an orange to ward off the skin rash and bleeding gums, drinking a glass of milk for the Vitamin D I'm surely missing, and getting back to work. See me going? Bye-bye, sunshine.

I leave you with my favorite poem from one of my favorite poets:

THE SUN RISING by John Donne

Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late schoolboys and sour prentices,
Go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices;
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rages of time.

Thy beams so reverend, and so strong
why shouldst thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long.
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and tomorrow late tell me,
Whether both th' Indieas of spice and mine
Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."

She's all states, and all princes I;
Nothing else is;
Princes do but play us; compared to this,
All honour's mimic, all weath alchemy.
Thous, Sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world's contracted thus;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.

*Other than my husband, of course, who regularly suggests that a long walk in ten degree weather is just what the doctor ordered. And he should know, being the doctor.

**Unlike Mr. Donne, I won't profess that myself and my lover -- in this case my WIP -- are the center of the universe. There are limits to my arrogance. Don't look so shocked. One of my New Year's resolutions is to practice humility whenever possible.