It’s raining. The levy is going to break–this is one of those days when the emerald glasses are only pictures of fire places and deep comfort covers and thick books and stay-puff man marshmallows. There is not one iota of warmth in the air and so I’ve got rain on the brain. Here’s a fave rain poem of mine by Shel Silverstein that I always think of on days like this (I had to memorize it once upon a time, and parts have stuck with me) and below are some pictures from our friend Tom Daly from the last time that we had stormy icy weather here in town. Although the ground is loving the drink, I’m looking forward to the sun that is promised for tomorrow!
I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.
I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can’t do a handstand–
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said–
I’m just not the same since there’s rain in my head.