thoughts on a soft day

I wrap up in an old shawl, make myself a huge cup of coffee and stare through the window at the rain softening the seascape. Walking to the convenience store on the corner, I cover up in a large coat and enjoy the peace of the empty streets. I stop to talk to a friendly golden retriever outside the store and afterwards my hands bear the familiar smell of wet dog.

Most people here hate rain. Rain makes the winter less of a winter and the summer miserable. But to me, rain on a summer's day is gentle, rain whispers to me of the soft days in Ireland. The days when I would curl up in front of the roaring fire in an old country pub and chat to the locals who walked in with mud-covered wellies and accompanied by smelly, wet dogs. My throat would burn with the taste of a hot whiskey and I would be teased about my habit of reading old copies of the Times.

In the store, I buy honey to cure my cold, and loads of citrus fruit. Today is one of my unemployed days, but I don't mind. I have books to read, books to write, things to learn, people to remember, journeys to dream of. Today, I will not worry. Today, I will only live. I will not forget the music.