And with the rain I grow afraid

I won't pretend to be overjoyed at the prospect of yet another season of precipitation.
Something about the climate of home shall always be wont to hand me satisfaction.
Selfish or demanding, I don't care. I just want sunshine and river trips and no need for fenders on my bike.
I know better and that's the hard part.
This is going to be the first Fall and Winter where I haven't been hampered by the onset and suffering of a compromising academic regimen and yet something just as weighty seems to be slowly falling on the spaces just south of my nape and north of my tailbone. Like I've been leaned over by the burden of something as yet undetermined.
One might say this is a period of reckoning for everyone.
A time where every person in this gray area is allowed little more than introversion and stiff self examination as a result of the dimly lit skies and wet crosswinds.
It's as if the elements drive us inside ourselves.
My skin is my raincoat and my inertness my galoshes.
Only they'll never get muddy.
I'll never need to move.
That is what the dark clouds tell me.