Rainy Sunday 

Oh the bliss of a rainy Sunday. When nobody has to be at work, or anywhere other than where they are. The freeness if the time, the slowing of the rhythm, the chance to just be. 

The rain has been threatening all morning, and now is falling. I can hear it in the breeze, against the windows, down the drainpipe, the odd drip down the chimney. It is like having my own private orchestra playing a beautiful symphony.

I’ve been up this morning with Jessica while Carl slept, but now he has taken her out to play. Yes, in the rain. I am feeling queasy and unwell, and tired. He has some jobs to do and she need to have a good run round in the fresh air. So out she has gone in willies and puddle suit and umbrella, and the promise of hot chocolate in the bath when she returns.

I would shy away from going out and getting wet, but Carl just goes with it, and Jessica was scampering about with delight at being allowed to go out and jump in as many puddles as she pleases.

I want to work on my knitting, I am two rows away in the hat I am making from starting to work the decreases. After 52 rows of the same stocking stitch I am ready for the variety. I want to read, and to drink tea. But for now I think I will lay in bed and listen to the rain, and thank heavens for beautiful rainy Sundays.


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