Spanish views from a small town

We are into the month of May, one of the prettiest, most gracious months of the year. It's warmer, the days are longer, everything has flowered or is flowering, the trees are kelly green. But I'm not in May. My head is still somewhere in April. It still seems like yesterday we went to the Women's Day march with our daughter in Santiago. It still seems like a strange Easter was last week, and that vacation still hasn't ended. It still seems like summer is such a long time away from now. This week my routine has changed a little bit. Now, I go walking every morning that it doesn't rain. That means I didn't go on Tuesday. I come home, shower, and do something. Depending on the day, I might have some video classes. My busiest is Wednesday, with one in the morning and one in the afternoon. Compare that with my usual five hours in the afternoon previous to this quarantine.  Then, I make lunch, laze about, do something more in the afternoon. Or, force myself to g...

Late August rain. Nowhere to go. Much to do. Very little initiative to do anything.  Drip, drip, drip. Rain knocks on the roof. Drops splatter on the ground. Rivulets run down the windows. Grey surrounds everything. Light is strained. An eight o'clock look to everything. Not sure whether morning or evening. Lights will not be turned on. Quiet broken by the refrigerator motor. Cars grow, splash, and fade. Tic toc tic says the clock. Clickety-click says the keyboard. Cats sleep. Rain is needed. Drought is killing the reservoirs. Rain feeds boredom. Longing for yesterday's sun. Summer fades. Winter comes on nigh. Nature begins to close shop, pulling down the shutters halfway. Please, may I buy one last warm day? I won't be long. Go right ahead, I'll wait for you. The forecast says sun day after tomorrow.