I awake to sunshine and a warm Christmas breeze meandering across my bed from the window, open all night due to the warm wave that swept through Florida at the end of the week. Post-gift-opening with my family, I want to drive to a nearby town and take photos of old abandoned barns and rural buildings that have always intrigued me. “It’s going to rain,” my husband warns ominously, “not good weather for photography.”
“According to my weather app, less than 10 percent chance,” I retort. But, I stick my head out the door and my alter-ego meteorologist confirms that my husband’s unscientific weather assessment is correct.
Rather than a photography adventure, we take a holiday gift of champagne to a neighbor and visit for more than an hour. A few Christmas cookies and many stories later, my husband, with a smug look on his face, remarks that it is raining. Our sunshine has melted into rain. Christmas is crying.