Overcast, misty, cold. Currently, it's 44˚F, with the windchill at 39˚F. I've already been out, and I can report back that there is nothing whatsoever about this day to distinguish it from January, and certainly not from December, not in the quality of light, not in temperature, not in the smell or taste of the air, not in the presence or absence of foliage, not in the way that people are dressed, and certainly not in how it strikes my mind. It is midwinter out there. In Birmingham, it's 64˚F, the high will be 79˚F, and they've been greening for weeks. I am only a few hours and five or six hundred dollars away from home.
I'm sick, and I have no idea how to make it from one end of this shitty day to the other.
This photograph, taken on Thayer Street, says anything you might have needed to know about yesterday in Providence: