I woke up this morning and thought I was somewhere else. Not the kind of disconcertedness that comes with a night of drinking, or coyote-ugly bad decisions, but the kind where you hear a sound before you open your eyes, smell a scent, and remember another place. And so you don't open your eyes in hopes that you really are in that place. Away from where ever it is you really are that day and time.
It was raining this morning, pitterpitterpat against my window, woke me mu and I thought for a minute I was back home in Seattle. Or maybe I had been driven across the mountains to Portland and was laying in some kind strangers bed and they would soon be bringing me milk and oatmeal, and even though I don't really like oatmeal, I would eat it because they had let me sleep in their bed and listen to their rain.
It was a gift this morning. The rain. I loved it.
I hope it never stops.