The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.
The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house. All that cold, cold, wet day.
Don't knock the weather; nine-tenths of the people couldn't start a conversation if it didn't change once in a while.
The sun himself is weak when he first rises, and gathers strength and courage as the day gets on.