drear

the weather is a tease. i get up and walk to the window, look outward for an indeterminate time, and return to the seat which bears my name. every time the colors are muted. every time they are the same shade of sepia. i was told today that i should push forward, that good things lie on the horizon. i was told that good things come to those who wait. the ides are approaching, and with them sunbeams.