Rain

There's something cozy about sitting next to an open window while the August rain pours down outside. This week I'm staying at a friend's place in Boston, and the windows here are large, but they don't seem to let the rain in at all (at least not on this side of the house).

So I can sit here comfy and dry and listen to the thunder crackle and roll, and occasionally the cats jump when things get exceptionally loud. The drops are landing hard on the tin roof of the neighbor's garage and on the trash bins three floors down. I feel pretty certain this rain will move on through and not linger; when it started I was out on the sidewalk and the first dops hit the pavement big and fat - a sure sign to a lifelong yankee that the storm will not last. Do I put too much confidence in the folklore of my New England upbringing? We shall see. I need to walk to the store soon and pick up some sour cream for dinner and milk for breakfast. So I'm hoping my instincts are right.