Gunmetal Button

The sun is a nothing in the sky; palely trying to shine, but only managing a thin, runny yellow. The clouds are white turning to slate, and hold the promise of dankness. This in-between weather annoys me. I either want storms filled with pouring rain and winds that whip my umbrella inside out, or I want honeyed sunshine and breezes smelling of greenery. Francy, Lulu and I share the windowsill in our discontent, counting crows, pigeons, and clouds respectively. Finally, I throw on my torn, velvet-patched denim jeans jacket with domed gunmetal buttons, grab a blue batiked napkin filled with shortbread, apricot and walnut bars and stomp outside to wrangle the weather into a decision. It is unlikely that I will be successful. I turn up the music in my iPod in hopes of dispelling my black gloominess.
“Birds do it, bees do it
Even educated fleas do it
Let’s do it, let’s fall in love
In Spain, the best upper sets do it
Lithuanians and Letts do it
Let’s do it, let’s fall in love
The Dutch in old Amsterdam do it
Not to mention the Fins
Folks in Siam do it – think of Siamese twins
Some Argentines, without means, do it
People say in Boston even beans do it
Let’s do it, let’s fall in love”
(By Mister Cole Porter)

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