The grays of clouds heavy with water, lead, pines gray to dove gray has been the main color outside of my 12th floor perch. The verdigris of aged coper roofs are just a touch brighter. Walking the city there are gray shiny slick cobblestones, dark puddles, reflections of sky on earth. Some women are impervious to the weather, their hair always smooth, their shoes never muddy... Mine are, my hair frizzes in the moist air. Dogs smell of wet dog. Plants seem happy, the city ivy climbs up with new young shoots, the magnolia and prunus flower and cherry trees bloom. The yellow berberis gives off a sweet evening smell on a city corner. I wonder how to attract birds at my balcony. I would love the blackbird to sing to the world from there or when the swallows arrive have them build their mudnest there. Crows and seagulls, different types of city pigeons is what I see most in this wettest month since 1833 when they started to monitor the incidents and fluctuating fickleness of the weather.