It's been a rainy weekend here. It's still raining today. There's something awfully cozy and lazy about those grey days with a constant slow and steady spittle of rain. It makes me want to do laundry then roll about in the warm clothes from the drier. Perhaps I could settle in that fresh heap with a good book.
While some lament the end of hot and steamy days, I look forward to the damp cool mornings where the wet leaves stick to every surface. Others may find the spindly spent tendrils and lonely picked over patches in the decaying garden depressing but I love that slow death for revealing treasures new and once forgotten.
