It's raining outside my window. It's also dark and cold, and the feeble yellow street light does not add any warmth but rather emphasizes the desolation of a winter night.
I've been going through a tough period of my life, and I'm not feeling exactly rosy inside either. So the gloom inside and outside reminds me of a text from Heinrich Heine's Reisebilder that I studied in a German textbook many years ago: es regnete dann immer stärker, außer mir und in mir, daß mir fast die Tropfen aus den Augen herauskamen.
I always find it embarrassing that my mood heavily depends on the weather. When it's bright and sunny, no matter what my circumstances are, I am always happy. And vice versa. I have friends who enjoy walking in the rain, and I envy them so. I wish I could be nuts like that. I love warm and sunny beach towns and more than once thought about moving to Miami Beach in Florida or Carlsbad in California, but somehow I always ended up living in places where cold rains exist to drag me down.
Sometimes I wonder why the way I feel depends so much on the whims of nature. Is it possible for me to be happy on rainy days? There's a song about letting it snow as much as it will since the man is with his love and doesn't care about the weather. Maybe the warmth in one's heart can beat any kind of adverse atmospheric condition. Interesting prospect that I have to try, again.