I journey outside and find it hard not to notice that the sun is shining. Sure, there are clouds in the sky and a healthy breeze is blowing, but I still wonder whether my leather jacket is necessary. It isn’t. I carry on wearing it anyway.
On my way to the lake, I notice that, according to my bovine rain gauge, it should be raining. A lot. All seven cows are sitting down. It should be raining 7/7 of a cow, which, for the meteorologically inclined mathematicians amongst you, means 100% rain. 100% rain, for those of you who are not good at numbers, means as much rain as there could possibly be. 100% rain. That’s a lot of rain. The sun is shining.
I walk over to the cows and stare at them. The more I stare at the cows’ faces, the more they look like aliens. I wonder if maybe the cows are making an existential statement: “The sun may be shining, but we, the assembled Bovine Rain-gauge, feel rain in our hearts. Weather is just a state of mind. Have a seat.”
I check my own internal rain-gauge and learn that it is not raining.
Perhaps sunshine, healthy breezes and staring at cows combine to breed levity of the soul. Or it could be the result of anti-depressants and a long lie-in.
I notice that one of the cows is now standing up.