Pouring

It's cold and pouring and it's a thrill to have the door open and hear it while it tumbles onto the ground and across the normally dry patio furniture and soaks into the desert ground. Every day could be like this for all I care. I'd revel. I would glow. As each day, as of late, goes by, I feel more and more free. More and more clear. I rediscover bit of myself that got lost here or there in busyness or in just that's the way it rolls. That peace, man, that peace, it just keeps showing up. And I'm happy because I know I can be happier, still. So I'm committed to finishing my novel in a year's time. If not, not gonna kill myself, but I think it can be done. Reading bits of the novels of two friends right now, one old and one new--the friends, not the novels. Brilliant boys, both of 'em. Kudos to them for completion. There's something nice in wrapping up. Less and less, I like loose ends. Loose, but not loose ends.

But your lips spoke gold and honey, and that's why I'm happy when it rains.