Pouring rain here. Pouring. It’s dumping like the city’s bought the five-buck carwash, a hundred-foot tall sign telling the metro area to “PULL FORWARD”. As I’ve mentioned, rain is a blessing in this dry climate, and even when it sounds like BBs are being poured on the roof, I crave more. I also appreciate having that roof above me. I think weather is a ying/yang proposition. It can’t truly be enjoyed unless you’re witnessing it from a place of refuge. Heavy rain requires a dry outlook, and cold windy nights are best experienced under a foot-deep down comforter.
Which brings me to the joys of sleep in cozy places. I once was rocked to sleep in a small compartment on the train from Luxor to Cairo, whizzing by lush marshes bracketed by deadly expanses of swirling sand. Sleeping on a small sailboat is equally alluring and restful, and I’ve been tucked tight into a bunk with the sound of waves slapping the hull, halyards tinging against a mast, ducks chattering on landing into our secluded cove.
I’ve found in life that it’s good to never underestimate the joys of sleep and security while the weather runs wild outside.