It is still raining this morning, still gently. I went to take the sheets from the bed to wash but found this.
She meowed and I did not move her. I can get to those sheets later.
I went to let the chickens out and the yard to me is beautiful right now in its gray wetness.
Mick admiring the form and posture of Miss Trixie.
The resurrection fern on one of the old oaks, painting its elephant-hide bark with green.
The garden. A source of my wealth.
The candy-striped camellia.
The seafoam camellia.
Bad, mean Santa, guarding the kitchen porch.
There you have Lloyd this morning, or at least my tiny corner of it. Cars go by, their wheels make a hiss, hiss on the wet road. The rain falls a heartbeat and a splash and a lullaby and a comfort. The tiny finches twitter, the cardinals make their chip, chip sound.
Here is the song I have in my head.
As sweet and gentle as this day.
Merry winter and so on and so forth.