It's August, and after our exceedingly rainy July here in Juneau, we’ve now enjoyed several days of sun. But the exhilaration of the first few rain-free days is wearing thin, at least for some. After talking with a complaining friend, I remembered a poem I wrote several years ago—“Complaints.” It was one of thirty poems State Writer Laureate Jerah Chadwick selected for an on-line calendar for National Poetry Month, April 2006, which ran on the Alaska State Council On The Arts website. It’s the reverse of our current “problem” – but it’s the same old thing. Yes? Complaints Before it rained, we rattled like dry leaves, tasted like dust, turned to powder if you touched us. We needed this moist and magic cloak of tears to shape us, give us form, keep us from blowing away in the first breath of wind. And now we complain that the rain never stops, that we can’t remember the glint of sunlight, that we never need dark glasses, that all we see are shades of grey. This is how you know we are human: We never notice when we have it good.