Today, the weather is perfect. I’m soaking it in.
It’s not always. And it’s something I complain about.
My Grandpa used to quote a poem occasionally when there was conversation about the weather–always with a chuckle and a sparkle in his eye:
As a rule, man is a fool.
When it’s hot, he wants it cool;
When it’s cool, he wants it hot.
Always wanting, what is not.
Lord, help me find contentment. Not only when the “weather” is perfect–but when it’s too hot or too cold for my comfort.