“There is no urgency to the game. Even in the pouring rain, there is the same easy lethargy of a sunstruck afternoon where bodies are bathed in sweat rather than rainwater.” ~ W.P. Kinsella, The Iowa Baseball Confederacy
I wrote about rain delays a week ago. It has rained here in Virginia every day since.
It is raining now.
The grass has grown up over my ankles and gone to seed, but it’s too wet to mow. The garden is a square box of mud, but it’s too wet to sow.
The grass has even overgrown the garden gnomes.
Everything’s a little slimy. My hair is rain-flattened and the screen door at our house has swollen itself shut. There is, I am not kidding, a palm-sized frog now living in a mud puddle in the middle of our road.
The rain on the tin roof at my studio in town has gone from “I love the sound of rain on a tin roof” to incessant and aggravating.
Baseball goes on in most other places. But, nothing much is going on around here.
It’s cold and wet and dreary and a little sad outside. It’s a good day to curl up with a book.