Perfect weather...

Hard, driving rain; the scent of wet dogs and broken branches and sodden earth; gusting wind that makes the chimney-top creak and the gutter squeak as the branches rub against it...perfect writing weather! On the edges of my awareness lie mud paths between make-shift dwellings; washing that will not dry without sun or the luxury of tumble-driers; children whose coughs and colds won't heal...More insistent, though, the hum of the computer, the tap-tap-TAP of rain on the window, the warmth of the mohair blanket...For now, I sit cocooned in a pool of light, the room's corners dark, the night even darker. Such are the blessings I may count; so, is the space filled...