I have an affection for the adjective lowery. It denotes a threatening sky, blustery and chill.
I heard it first from a old man in northern Vermont who ran the forge at the mine in Lowell. A fruit farmer as well, he was my mentor in the strawberry business some 43 years ago.
So on this drizzly morning, 48 degrees, stout breeze and leaden sky, I think of him, and marvel at the speed of time.