There's a saying that if you don't like the weather in North Carolina, don't worry, it will change in five minutes. I confess I've had my heating and air conditioning on in the same day. That's one reason that my allergies are driving me crazy, and everyone I know has/ has had/ just gotten over / is fighting off a cold.
Yesterday I didn't need a jacket. Today it is a dreary, cold, rainy day.
And I love it.
I love writing on rainy days. I love looking out my home office window on to the golf course (it's all very Faulkner-esque) . I love the sound of rain. I love being in lounge pants all day. I love being in my fuzzy bathrobe. I love looking out at the bright holy bush, and how its red berries contrast to the gray sky. I enjoy watching the unusually fat squirrel hop along my back porch, probably examining the cockpit of my kayak and wondering if he could build a nest in there. I'm smelling the remnants of a winter berry scented candle, and something about this symphony of senses, coupled with a hot cup of coffee and glass of orange juice (vitamin C to thwart said cold season), there's something about it that just begs: "Tell me a story."
"Tell me a story."
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