Tomorrow will be cloudy. Cloudy with rain. Great heavy gray sheets of rain. Rain enough to rehydrate a mummy. There will be flash floods. Jagged gashes will split the sky and fill the air with the single sound of a thousand drums.
You have been whining about lack of rain. You have been forecasting a big year for wildfires.
Tonight, your weather forecaster will consult his doppler and chase his tail around the map in pursuit of flashing colors. He will generously promise sunshine tomorrow. He believes. His machine and he are fun to toy with. He is such a fool, but he should fool with someone else.
Tomorrow will be cloudy with rain and rain.
AND Nanowrimo is complete for another year. There'll be hours of editing, reworking and formatting but another novel can't be a bad thing. Well, maybe.