Rain is a curious thing. It comes and goes when it pleases, but yet the Weather man things he's pathetically telepathic and can read the mind of the little droplets falling from the sky. hmmm. Um, How about not.
As it patters my window at one in the morning you start to think absurd circles. for instance I found myself thinking. "raindrops on roses," what a glorious sight that mental picture is. to think about the best rose that smelt like red, and rain drops that didn't really smell but came with the breath of morning. walking out on a foggy morning just kinda makes me miss those days. Its fall and those days have past. there is a long way to go until I can experience something close to that again.
I must walk out my door into the blistering cold rain to my cabin. Those covers on my janky bed will sure feel good after I change out of the sopping clothes I will come in.
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