Yearning for such weather, which would've been the cherry to my sundae, I went to the sun-room door and opened it up: still cloudy and dreary. Oh well. At least I still had my book.
Once I resumed reading, however, I gave pause, struck by the next line: "Soft, cloud-filtered light streamed through a pair of glass windows in the seaward wall."
The words forced my head up, to the sun room's seaward wall, out the door's pair of glass windows, at the very soft, very cloud-filtered light streaming through.
After momentarily pondering how I seemed to have acted out, to the detail, the very scene depicted in the book -- just seconds before reading that line -- I laughed devilishly.
Good one. Good one ...
(My view of the sun room door)
(The seaward scene visible through said door, the Atlantic seen beyond a marsh)