Not summer’s narcissist, calling attention to herself with booms and flashes, nor winter’s frozen fury, piling white on white. A shimmering sheen of rain, instead, an incessant shower that lulls and saddens, like a woman somewhere in the world, her face in her hands. Always so much to weep for — the friend who is dying; the lover who left; a river that made the news, poisoned forever by something leaking; the unnamed species extinct this hour.