Pretty Little.

This is the kind of pretty little rain that makes the dogwood out front of 709 look even more ready to cut itself on, makes the daffodils push further out of the ground, makes me eye the lawnmower under its tarp in the back yard, even though I won't need it for weeks yet. It's cool out there, people, hat and coat cool, but this is the sort of rain we need and need badly, a slow rain and fog and mist that soaks everything through and will give us all something to hang onto once tomorrow scours itself clean and delivers a cold night with temps where they ought to be, dry and crackling down into the twenties. Snow's forecast for the weekend, though how much of that can be relied upon is debatable. Wind and sun in the interim. But now, friends and fans of gray and gloom, now it is wet and chilly and perfect in its own way, a day that demands something cooking a while in the oven for dinner and perhaps, perhaps a little something over ice. Or a cup of tea, if a cocktail's not your thing. Maybe a magazine from a couple weeks ago, one you haven't gotten around to yet. Maybe a television program. Maybe nothing: maybe dinner and early to bed and a good clean start tomorrow. Whatever's your poison, though, do stand in the window here a bit this evening before the sun goes down, and watch your neighbors' lights come on, watch the street go dark. More rain overnight, most likely. Good enough for me.