Good Rain.

Drove home last night through rain showers in Whitsett and Sedalia and it smelled like rain—like spring rain, sharp and aluminum. It kept cooling off through the evening, though, back towards winter. I was worried that everybody else would get the best of it, but right as we were cooking dinner, and then again as we were headed to bed, we got ours, a hard rain, the roof thrumming and the power even flashing on and off right around midnight. Had to reset the clocks. It's still raining this morning, the sky dark and low, the porch lamp on out there, light sensor fooled.

The fancies want to give us a little more through the day, and maybe a little snow tonight. It'll be cold for a while after that, and I'm relieved. I was hoping for spring, but it's too early to hope for spring. First rule: have seasons.

It's a struggle to find the rhythm of teaching again, the rhythm of being responsible to other people.

Let's do the numbers: it's cold out there on the WeatherDeck, 35 and a soft rain. We picked up a full half-inch overnight. The water's thick on the branches, a little syrupy. People's houses are belching out smoke and steam. We maybe didn't miss ice and snow and paralytic live News2 Chopper12 FirstAlert reportage by all that much. And that would have been well and good—I could already use a day off—but this has always been my favorite weather, the kind of day that runs everybody else indoors, the kind of day that leaves me looking out the window, or standing in the open screen door, or out on the porch in my robe, thinking This is not so bad, thinking This is kind of beautiful, actually, thinking Maybe I'll have one more cup of coffee, thinking Maybe I'll just wear the same shirt today as I did yesterday.