Monsoon season has yet to end in Bogota. Every morning I experience as small glimmer of hope that maybe today the sun will shine for at least an hour, but by 10 o’clock, it’s back to torrential downpour. It’s hard for me to stay chearful in such a cold and rainy climate. Imagine early November D.C weather and throw in at least eight hours of rain a day and you have Bogota for the last — I don’t know? Ten months? I have a new appreciation for seasons now. At least with well-defined seasons you more or less know what to expect when.
I wrote a while back that I feel kind of like a character named Margot in a story about a world where the sun only comes out once every nine years or something like that. Well, the story is called “All Summer in a Day” by Ray Bradbury, in case you’re interested. I haven’t been doing much exploring lately, mostly because any kind of outdoor activity right now involves jeans soaked up to my knee caps, wet socks and deformed, upturned umbrellas. Thus, I have little to write about. I wonder if Bogota has a higher than average depression rate because of all the rain. Not to mention serious vitamin D deficiency.