Spring Snow

Something that fell out of my notebook the other day...I wrote this probably last Spring (my deck-painting season) :

Thunder is rocking the morning sky threatening to break loose a billion tiny drops pelting my freshly painted decks. My first rose is in bloom--gloriously yellow with faint specs of pink crowning the edge of each petal. The rain comes. I know very few things I love better than a smoldering morning thunderstorm. Everything seems to come back alive on mornings like this--even the hushed rhythm of pattering droplets have life. And the thunder sounds sometimes like drums, sometimes like rockets, sometimes just like a friend knocking at the door...waiting for someone to open him shelter from the storm. Writing can be like that--sheltering. A refuge, a place of safety for your own thoughts. Writing can be like a good friend, an old friend. If you write freely and honestly, you can very possibly find the real you and connect with life...begin to notice and enjoy the steady of the rain from the eaves on one leaf of a potted plant. Even a plant--rooted--can dance in the rain.

For interests sake, the forecast here in late April for this weekend is SNOW...2-3" Saturday and 1-2" Sunday. Need I say more?