It's poured. As we located umbrellas and left for ballet class, I used an expression my German-American child had not heard: "It's raining cats and dogs."
"Well, Mommy, it's actually more like cats and cows." As the rain bounced off the road, as we got soaked from the thighs down, despite umbrellas, she added, "Make that cows and horses!" I knew it was raining too hard not to stop, and sure enough, by the time we'd ridden eight minutes underground, shivering in our wet clothes cooled by the air conditioning that seems only to exist in tram stations in our part of the world. . . the sun was out.
Today I've danced the put-the-clothes-out-to-dry, haul-'em-back-in-again Schuhplattler a bit too much for my taste, but now it is only overcast, and the guinea pigs are out in the yard gorging themselves on recently-sprouted dandelion. Our part of Germany is lush these days, partly because of all the rain and partly because we're in the merry month of May and I'm finally able to wear summer clothes to work most days. When I drink from my Global Warming mug (filled with hot coffee, it shows receding coastlines) I'm happy to see that Germany will still be around even if New York sinks, and even though our Winter was all but snowless and felt more like Fall.
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