Sitting in the corner chair, on his window-filled porch, with the curtain flowing almost straight out, and Prince Albert wafting through the air, my Grandfather would often say, "Smells like rain." If he had been on the car ferry, Machiginne II, headed to Peaks this afternoon, he wouldn't have been far from wrong. However, with the city slowing drifting away behind, the dark menacing clouds threatened, shook their fists, but finally meandered away. I couldn't help but hear those lines from Macbeth echoing in my ears,
"...it is a tale
told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
The spotty sun, the remainder of the afternoon, wasn't perfect, but it was good enough for two brothers and their sons to enjoy lunch and music with a city skyline lurking off in the distance.