“Look at it, look at it! Bloody weather! Typical! Typical!” I was ranting now.
Frances was looking displeased, not with the weather, rather with the black cloud that had settled about my shoulders. She told me to lift it. Lighten up. Or at least, smile sardonically. And the cloud would lift and the weather would improve. She really said that. Annoyingly, she was usually right when it came to this cloud business. But I was having none of it. I was tunneling away, deeper and deeper into the darkness of my mood. And that was that. Frances, with Kate in tow, was understandably trying to ignore me, hoping perhaps, I’d go away. But I did not go away.
Where is Transylvania is as Important as This
2 months ago
4 comments:
I'll take those clouds and rain! How I love them so. I'll trade you - it's sunny and gross here in Texas today.
Wasn't it Abraham Lincoln who said that you can be as happy as you decide to be? I know he'd never end a sentence in a preposition, but you get the idea.
Black clouds and rain to me connote staying home and cracking a good book weather.
I adore the rain. And the fog. The soft cool air, wet upon the leaded windows, the fire is lit, the tea left by some invisible personage thru a door papered like the wall, invisible unless u dare to look. The dogs curled at ur feet, in ur lap: the pillows propped in the window seat. U trace a face upon the old glass and it sweats its smile onto cuff. U sip the tea. U follow a few sentences then return ur gaze to the bit of glass u have cleared, now ur cuff is soaked thru. The grass is greener than it should be allowed to be. A man in a mac, a gun opened upon his arm, a spaniel of some mixed breed followes him into the trees. The log cracles and rolls. The tea is tepid. U are in heaven.
What romantic souls you all have!
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