Rain beads on wool

Another wet, cold day. The rain falls steadily down, not in torrents that expends itself, nor in drizzly dots that sometimes disperse. But steadily, incessantly, from impenetrables clouds of grey. The grey is thick here.

I ventured out to pick up lunch--tempura dinner from Yummy Teriyaki. It was cold, cold, cold. I felt the wind penetrate my jeans. I kept my head lowered, so that the brim of my newsboy cap could protect me from the wet. The rain beaded on top of my cap and kept me a semblance of dry.