It's been raining all morning, not even steadily...just a sort of gentle drizzling that encourages the birds to just "stay put, but please keep singing in the trees"~singing in the shower, I guess.
The house is quiet, for once, and has that sort of sleepy, cushioned-and-cozy, tucked-in feel that only a soft rain can produce. As I pad around the house in fluffy socks, listening to the relative quiet and just allowing my mind to wander as I thoughtlessly go through the motions of sweep-sweep-sweeping the floors and straightening pillows, I suddenly recognize a sort of powerful, peaceful ache in my chest...I hadn't noticed it before, but now that I do, I take a moment to pay attention, and when I do, I realize that the ache is YOU.
The rain which has been gently caressing my thoughts and whispering sweetly in my ears is familiar. As it falls~outside the kitchen window, into our trees, masking the schwoosh of traffic~it sounds like the rain that fell so many years ago on three road-weary sisters, in the mountains of Alaska. Every drop puts me back in that cabin, and I can see it so clearly: The one room cabin is sparse, but clean. There is no TV (!!!), two beds, minimal lighting, a small table, two chairs,and us. It is perfect.
We unload the car, and promptly find and follow the boardwalk at the back door; it leads to pristine bathrooms, which we are delighted to locate. On our way back, we can't help but notice that there is a smallish waterfall right outside of the back window. The rain keeps falling, but we don't hurry, because it's friendly, not fierce, and there is so much to take in.
We get back to the cabin and realize that not only are we starving, but we are too tired to actually go somewhere and do something about it. So we scrounge in our bags and locate some sticks of pepperoni which we slice and serve with good bread and cheese. I believe there were Mint Milano Cookies for dessert.
After that, with full tummies, comfy clothes on, and the rain still beating a steady rhythm on the roof (not to mention the shouts of "Bear! Bear! Stay inside!"), we each grab a book and crawl into the beds to read by the light of a single 60-watt bulb.
I don't know about you, but that was the best nap I've ever had, with the best company I could ever ask for. I'm glad that today sounds like that.
I'm also glad that Cyndi didn't put food out for the bear like she wanted to... >.<
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