rain, rain…

Tapping raindrops on the windowpane and tapping fingers on the sill. The little girl inside me sighs. That little girl had so many plans for today, and there they are, washed out by streaks of silver-gray and a dismal, chilly wind.

Ah well, I think. The face reflected in the glass is older now—wiser—perhaps a little sad—but the fretful impatience underneath that face is the anxiety of a little girl who sees all her bright little dreams ruined by a stiff autumn rain. So much for mice and men and all that.

But I won’t be so easily conquered by this little smudge of gray on the wide Atlas of my life. The day shall not be wasted on a mope.  I shall build a little blanket fort, complete with snacks and flashlights, and drag inside it all the things most precious to me. Diary, check. Pillow, check. Teddy, check. Finally, a cup of tea and some toast.

There. My plans may be ruined, but from the ashes of those plans is born a Phoenix built of down and doilies, lantern light and bedtime stories.

Take that, rain. You may take my plans, but you’ll never take my ability to enjoy the letdown as much as the build up.


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