In which Gramsci contemplates the weather outside, connects it with the loud bangs and rumbles of thunder, and thinks that it doesn't look very appealing at all.
We were very grateful to have taken an early, and sunny, and longer than usual walk this morning, on the green belt trail that runs under the railroad line - figuring, rightly, that if the forecast rain came, it would be unspeakably muddy later on. We were right.
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