Blustery is one of my most favourite words. Today, is one of those days. The wind is howling. Rain is falling in a sheet, from the side, cold and fierce, undeniable in its desire to soak you through to the bone. Wind chimes are knocking together. We have the wooden ones. So the sound is quite pleasing to the ear.
Dixon stood in the doorway for twenty minutes staring out into the storm. All day, he's done the same thing. Sat on the porch, smelling the air, but he refuses to go out in the rain. There's something amusing about him not wanting to get wet. I even went out there to clean up the garden a bit. Still, he sat on the porch. Watched the cars go past. Smelled the fresh, wet air.
I have decided to take a cue from my hound dog and am staying in.
My lofty goals for this weekend are to finish the novel I have been writing. It's a magical story full of wonderment and odd encounters. More so, it's about friendship and being who you are. You know, those boring themes almost all novels have in them. It's been going on far too long, though. Writing this thing.
So, as the rain comes down, tapping on the window, I will be tapping on my keyboard.
Trying to be creative. I am grateful that I can pretend to be a writer today.