It's raining, it's pouring. The old man is snoring. He went to bed, bumped his head, and he couldn't get up in the morning.
It's raining today.
But it's a good rain.
It's a spring rain.
The air is cool and fresh, and the rain is falling perfectly: not monsoon, but not mist either.
The River has all but thawed.
The grass is slowly beginning to green up.
I envision crocus and hyacinth bulbs awakening in the soil and commencing their annual journey towards the sun.
Soon we will be able to glimpse little bits of white, yellow, and purple poking out of the flower beds of this town (did you know that crocii always bloom in order of their colour?).
I'm listening to Norah Jones and k.d. lang and have opened my window in the hopes of airing out this over-heated and stuffy room.
I love the sound of car-tires on wet pavement.
It's a good day here. Hope it is wherever you are too.