Sometimes, a writer just has to flaunt the rules, indulge himself, and commit no-nos like starting with a description of weather. But it's not irrelevant. Weather can turn a protagonist suicidal as a stand-up comic flopping live on the Tonight Show. It can give a man reason to live again. Most of all, weather is rarely as boring as indoors. Why do you think movie cams keep moving in indoor scenes? They get bored too.
Anyway, I just might start a story with the following passage. In fact, I'm sure of it. It is, among other things, a refutation of what literary types call the Pathetic Fallacy :
For four weeks the world looked like an old Technicolor movie trapped in a b&w TV. Winter kept the sky locked up in relentlessly dull cloud cover, except for one day when pinpoint silver linings exposed brief soft spots in an otherwise grim afternoon.
That this happened during the worst possible time in Raleigh's 31-year old life felt ominously unbearable but the sun came out on the 29th afternoon of its sentence, possibly let out for good behavior. Exhilarated beyond belief, the sky whooped it up. Clouds performed circus acts; the flying trapeze of high cirrus wisps caught small scudding cumulus puffs and swung them across the horizon; low scudding clouds somersaulted each other like circus clowns. There were the usual impersonations -- camels, battleships, dragons -- and disappearing tricks: one cloud, just joking around, blocked the sun for a moment then broke apart and instantly evaporated.