Waxing poetical....

I’ve discovered that I have had a secret love for rain for a very long time. As you may or may not have heard, there has been a pretty much non-stop rainstorm going for the past couple of weeks. Parts of England are without running water, the flooding has been so bad.

And yet, here I am, at 11:30 on a Saturday night, waiting to start the movie I picked to watch in order to sit and listen to the rain falling through the plants in the garden outside my window. Tonight isn’t a particularly vicious storm, just a gentle rain that sounds more like a stiff breeze pestering the greenery. I’ve got a cat curled up at my feet, freshly-laundered sheets, and took a long hot bath earlier, all of which adds up to be one of the most comfortable and comforting moments I’ve experienced lately. At least, that I can think of at this instant.

Part of me wants to sit on my windowsill until I get tired of being rained on. The other part is happy to remain where I am, snuggled up under the covers with Mr. Bear.

The rain has picked up, working its way to a steady patter outside. There’s a faint suggestion of thunder, but it’s more likely to be the rumble of a passing airplane. I taught Conrad the trick of counting the seconds between lightning and thunder to judge how far the storm is and which way it’s moving, but he wasn’t too impressed.

I discovered last night that Ben and Jerry have made their way to the UK. Terrible discovery, and thanks again to the evil person who brought it to my attention (you know who you are, and I’ll get you back someday). But somehow I think their coffee ice cream would make right now just about perfect.

It’s like watching a lava lamp, listening to the rain. You get so focused on the repetition, everything else fades out.

And you forget what you sat down to do in the first place. Like I have right now.

I am turning into a hippie. Rats!