I woke this morning to sunshine and the promises of a beautiful sunny day from the weatherman on the radio. By midmorning he had already been proven wrong. Before lunch the gray had convincingly settled in, again. Good grief! It is past the middle of June. Summer officially begins in only a few days.
This morning the temperature was in the 40s. This afternoon, it may hit the mid-60s. Customers walk slowly into the local Starbucks where I am hiding from the gloom, crushed by the forecast’s broken promises of at least this one day of clear skies. It is in fact less clear than yesterday when thick clouds were predicted.
The line at the counter is subdued. Customers order their drinks in hushed tones. One by one they turn away from the counter with their hands deep in the pockets of their most summery long-sleeved dark gray sweatshirts or black coats.
For the most part the natives have stopped trying to pretend that it feels like summer and have taken a step back into a winter comfort zone. The occasional fashionista walks by on the sidewalk in short sleeves and sandals with the nervous gait of one who is fighting off a chill.
The brave guy beside me dared to order a Venti Iced Tea but it sat on the table in front of him nearly full until after I finished my Extra-Hot Double Tall Soy Latte and left for home. I admire the determination of the young but there is no mistaking this place for Southern California, Dallas, or anyplace warm. Sunshine has been scarce this year and summer fashion and drinks are a recipe for discomfort that few of us are cooking from this week.
I give up. Instead of trying out some new summer salad, tonight I am opening a can of soup. When it looks something like summer again I will share the recipe for a fantastically fresh tasting wild rice and orzo salad in a gingery dressing. Until then I look longingly out the window and wait….
...there I am reminded that I don’t wait alone. Summer is coming, even to the Pacific Northwest. I just hope it gets here soon!
The forecast says tomorrow...