Having only ever lived in a semi-arid region, where typically there is little to no rain between May and November, it hadn't occurred to me that there might be rain storms, anywhere, during Summer months.
Yes, I've seen wet-weather reports on the news, but they all pertain to somewhere elsewhere. In my vicinity we live with climate, not weather. Here,now, it is far too early to even consider a day of rain.
Myopia is a singularly elusive residence, to it's residents, that is. It is where one's personal experiences create an entire global construct out of which one sees everything, and I am one such world builder.
If you have ever looked at an upside down world map, depicting all things south as north, you will know instantly what I mean by this word: Myopia. A very human condition, it speaks of who we are.
The first time I set foot in England, I became acutely aware of how "American" I am. I quickly reassessed the situation and tuned in to the nuances of England. That was a benchmark lesson for me.
However, when I am writing, it is vital that I envelop myself in my muse's world view. If I don't tune in, I am lost. And once a piece is finished, then what? Do I simply shake it off and walk away?
Ah, but my view of the world is ever so comfy, and logical, and true, and ... or so it appears to me, even when I'm not writing. So, since focusing farther afield isn't in my nature, I must work to make it so.
In the meantime, as I struggle to cast off this all too alluring and greedy cloak that is my world view ... meanwhile being summoned to work on yet another poem ... I bid you greetings from Myopia.