It’s chilly and wet — typical for ATL. I’m enjoying a cup of hot tea, Earl Grey. The description on the tea bag says “Black tea kissed with bergamot’s lavender essence.” Or if you prefer the French, “Thé noir délicieusement parfumé d’essence de lavande de bergamot.”
I’ll let you believe I’m sitting in front of a fire as I sit by the big picture window looking out into the backyard. A small blanket tucked neatly under my feet, my journal momentarily abandoned in my lap. The dog, sleeping soundly near me.
It’s showing signs of spring, and my gaze rests on the tiny buds forming on the rose bushes just outside the window. Cardinals dance around in the air. The gloomy clouds break suddenly, and a single beam of light breaks through, offering a small ray of hope in an otherwise gray landscape.
I sigh, contentedly.
Or I could tell you the truth. I had to chase the dog out of a puddle because he didn’t want to come inside and I got a chill. Earl Grey was the first bag I grabbed, and I’m slurping it down hurriedly because I’m in the middle of folding clothes, putting away dishes, and answering a string of emails that seems to be reproducing. The living room is a mess thanks to a rogue paper towel that turned into a toy for the pooch, and the rain has outstayed its welcome.
And still, I sigh contentedly.
2 thoughts on “just another rainy day”
Literary license is not necessarily a confessable sin…especially when followed by a contented sigh.