I woke up late this morning and looked outside to see what the weather was like. Rain had been forecast. It was misty with a light drizzle.

Well, maybe I can go out for a walk, I thought. I was going to use the rain as a reason to make myself stay home and get things done. Our taxes, for example.

I have always liked overcast days. Cloudy skies. I seem to recall that my mother called them gray days.

It all goes back to a wonderful day I had when I was seven or eight years old. In Cambridge, Massachusetts. It was such a day. A gray day. Heavily blanketed skies. I forget what time of year. I believe autumn.

A big cardboard box had been left on the sidewalk. A box probably used for a refrigerator delivery. Another boy and I crawled inside, cut holes (probably) for “windows.” Pretended the box was our house. We played all afternoon. We had such fun together. Such a good time. We enjoyed so much playing TOGETHER.

I never saw this boy again. Cannot recall his name. Have no idea where he lived or why we never crossed paths again.

My wife understands completely. She called them golden moments. You have a wonderful romantic interlude for a day. “They don’t call back.”

But it’s a wonderful memory.

— Roger W. Smith

   March 24, 2022