It’s drizzling. Cool. A haze of rain. Grey. Nonstop. A wall of grey.
Haven’t stepped foot outside since the last sunset. Don’t plan on breaking this chain. Not today. Today my will is adamantine. Hard as a scimitar. Laziness, my chosen luxury.
Furthermore…
Someone else brought a package in, retrieved the mail. All junk, anyway. Glad I didn’t waste those fifteen seconds. Time spent under a new duvet is precious, irretrievable. Pushing it off is forsaking a cloud in favor of the gutter.
Furthermore…
Tea doesn’t steep through telekinesis. Mugs aren’t self-sugaring. Spoons do not come with ‘automatic stirring’ buttons.
Furthermore…
Books exist to be read. Aged pages feel good when rubbed between fingers, the scent produced intoxicating.
It’s drizzling. Cool. A haze of rain. Grey. Nonstop. A wall of grey.
***
Rain on the River by George Bellows (1908). Collection: Rhode Island School of Design Museum. Public Domain.
A Small Press Life: Books. Art. Writing. Life. Tea. 
Wonderful.
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Thank you so much!!
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Here it’s wet and gray, and it’s supposed to get really cold by evening. I like days like this. Now I am writing two book reviews and wondering if my own book proposal will gain approval.
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I love rainy autumn days! I wish that we had more of them. It actually snowed here last night, which is pretty early around here.
Good luck with your reviews and proposal!
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