The sound in the dead leaves. Which is not something I should be hearing in late December, hear that, winter? Because it should snow. Someone on this friendslist -- don't remember if she's said so publicly -- is coming from the Great Brown Sorrow, and we don't want to present her with more Brown Sorrow, now do we, winter?
(Any Coloradans with spare snow: I take UPS, USPS, FedEx, whatever.)
I was the one walking the doglet in the freezing rain because she gets wild and beastly when she doesn't get a walk, and I don't know if the weather will get nicer, but the sky surely won't get lighter from here. And also, somewhat more importantly, because markgritter has a nasty sore throat. He missed lunch with friends today because of it, and we will be keeping him away from my grandfather, who has developed an alarming tendency towards bronchitis. And I'm drinking that staff of life from my college years, lemon chamomile tea. I don't think I could have survived four years at Gustavus without lemon chamomile tea. Every morning when I got to the physics building, it was the first thing I would do: take off my coat and boots, put on my slippers, and make myself a cup of tea. Even now I feel that working on a short story might be slacking, that there are some integrals that probably ought to be solved first.
If I sit quietly with a short story, I'm sure the feeling will pass. So that's what I'm going to do.