It rained almost all day Friday. I was intending to go with my family to Nancy's family gathering in Gatlinburg, but our oldest daughter is recovering from a concussion and can't travel. The two of us stayed home. Rather than take a day off, I went to work while my daughter rested in relative quiet at home. A coworker and I spent a good portion of the day cleaning the bookmobile, inventorying the materials in it, and cleaning the AC units in preparation for warmer weather. (Ho-hum!) But it's a useful task and when everything looks nice and orderly, it feels like one has accomplished something. S_ and I were happy with the work. We even cleaned the windows. 

On rainy days, when you're in the building, the noise of rain hitting the roofs of the garage and the large workroom where we store books, mixes with the sound of the trains that pass through Hamilton throughout the day. It's steady, haunting, and sometimes lonely sounding, but if you're warm and dry and inside, it's oddly comforting. And "train" already has "rain" inside of it. 


Many more here:

International Pwoermd Writing Month