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May.

The sky went missing again.  Gone, poof, cloud-napped overnight.  In its place, a nubby wool blanket, hanging so low it's almost claustrophobic.  It's the color of old pewter and oyster shells and the very distant Pacific, just before slate sea meets steel sky.  Still, the pitter-patter on the deck is my bare feet, hands in the dirt. Highs are in the 60's, if the weatherman is to be believed, sort of optimistic, if you ask me.  The light is dim, the colors muted, rooftop-drab the new beige.  It is damp and dank and dripping.  I swapped out the sandals for rubber boots.  Shivered in my shorts.  But, every tree and bush decided to bloom at the same time!!!

I can hardly contain myself.

Oh, Ohio, I think you've made good.  I guess we're still squarely in the conditional love camp, you and I, but for bringing me this little piece of heaven, I forgive you.  I've seen your weather before, of course.  In April, when suddenly everyone swapped their woolens…

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