The alarm goes off. Ears tune in. Ugh. A rainy morning in Toronto.
Pull up the covers, snuggle in and go back to sleep. It’s a weekend day.
Wake up again, an hour(ish) later. Focus ears. Stand up and stretch. Peek through the blinds. Look to confirm what you hear. It’s still raining.
As much as the bed beckons, there is work to do: gotta throw on the rain gear and coax the dog to step outside to get his paws wet and do his business. Five very wet minutes later all is well and quiet back inside the house. Dry off.
Rainy days can be insanely romantic for those so inclined. And why not? We are all of romantic legal age in my family. Granted, our IDEA of what romantic is most likely differs. For example, I always thought it would be story-book romantic to meet someone at a library or bookstore. And thinking of story book romantic…thought I’d share an idea of one: (back to previous paragraph!.
So…before you get back into bed, one those rainy days when you wake up and are not alone, a recipe for you to consider, if you’ve searched for rainy day activities.
Head over to the bookcase, and grab some poetry books and short story books. Put them in the middle of the bed. Head to the kitchen to make some espresso, (or coffee, or tea) some toast, artfully fill some little cups with jam for the toast, or (or yogurt and berries) or if you are one of the well-prepared ones, slices of figs, whole lychees or peaches. Place your offerings on a tray with several napkins, and head back to bed.
Peek out the window again just because raindrops against glass are beautiful and the trails of drops always remind you of something and evokes a powerful longing.
Sigh at the wonder of the world and how everything just slowed down, and it’s okay that it did.
Turn around and fluff up many pillows. Get back in the bed. Sip espresso (or coffee or tea).
With eyes closed, select from the pile of books, then flip through the pages and then, stop at one. Or, choose to start at the beginning if that seems necessary. Hand the book over. Read to one another. Out loud. Bits and pieces or entire poems and passages.
Eat without dropping crumbs or juice from a lychee or peach.
Listen to the rain as words line up waiting to be taken in. See the images they form. Feel that sharing, of being filled, knowing that water is coming home to earth.
Ignore the clock. Let the answering machine do its job.
And take the time to enunciate as you read. It’s raining and there is no need to hurry.