Delightfully grey, like those days when I used to have the public parks of Los Angeles almost entirely to myself, and could walk the paths that were strewn with yellow leaves undisturbed. One of the most enjoyable things about southern California was always the propensity of the populace to run for cover at the merest indication of the possibility of rain. They would watch me, the crazy guy, from the safety of their cars, as I dared the clouds to make me wet. Sometimes they did. Mostly they didn't. I learned to trust grey days. I still do.