It is rainy today here in southern Wyoming. After snow, the rain is my favorite weather. Gray and quiet, the patter of drops. Puddles and streams. The scent of wet sage brush, the solid, opaque sky. A blanket over me, miles high. Walking unhurried. Creatures stir. Wriggle and crawling, careful not to trample. I, like them, oblivious to the inummerous things held dear by the entities driving in the town. Fog like halo. A breathless crown. The moisture foreign. The warmth a hug. Scurries to the fence-line. An industrious bug. Home is restful. Drops on my window.
