Rain good

I like rain. I don't like being in it, but watching through a window from inside feels like wearing a wool sweater or dozing under a down comforter. It's a good, build-a-fire, flop-in-an-armchair, read-a-book feeling. Snow is even better for the same reason, but this being Virginia, it's wisest to pin my coziness hopes to rain.

I'd like to live in a house of wood and stained glass and bookshelves. A church of stories. It would have sunny spots for the cats (they need little else) and walls and walls of shelves for books and other items (pictures, skeins of wool, little glass bowls of foreign money, dust, errant bookmarks, empty coffee mugs, decorative sticks, small books that don't fit on the shelf with the others and therefore stand in front of the main group).

If it's a strong storm, that's even better. Let's have some trees swaying, trash cans rolling through the street, leaves plastered to the windows. This "sailor's simpleminded delight in bad weather" may be a weakness, as both my books feature violent storms.

Sailing in a storm may be the only way to get some wind. Small Craft Warnings are when the excitement really begins; otherwise you drift around and swear. And huddling under a scrap of nylon on a backpacking trip while the rain beats down is also pretty hard to beat. But walking in it, running in it, carrying groceries through it? No thanks.