It’s a really really dark rainy Sunday morning. The dark is dark enough to keep the sensor candles in my windows illuminating each room of the house with golden warmth. A candle flickers on the mantle, blinking at me as I write. A pot of chili is simmering on the stove and the Patriots play at one o’clock today. I can’t think of a more perfect autumnal Sunday morning.
Today is one of those days you can’t orchestrate. They happen by chance and have to be pounced upon and taken advantage of immediately. Today I don’t want to do any of the things I do on my ordinary days. I don’t want to go outside (although I do enjoy rain walks). I don’t want to go to yoga. I don’t want to work on any of my business or writing projects. I don’t want to clean the numerous places in the house that need to be cleaned. I don’t sit here in my chair by my back door staring at the rain, wishing for sun. No, sun is the last thing I want today. I want the rain to keep pelting down with its insistence that it’s not going away.
So, on a day such as this, what do I want to do? Read. And read. And read some more, until I come to the last page and “Oh, wow!” envelopes me in awe as I shut the cover. Yes, today, all I want to do is read.
And so, as another day goes by, I intended to spend it in my chair with a new read, vacillating between the worlds of my book and my home, intermittently, and…I have written.
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