Monday, October 10, 2005
O soggy, gray fall day ... how I love thee. You give me an excuse not to walk the dog or jog, to stay in the house and snuggle back under the covers, and think about baking something.
Tammy, your remnants gently drip from the trees, soaking the patio furniture cushions, washing the last of the bird poop off the hood of the car. Too late is your moisture for the tomatoes, but the carrots, the carrots will use it to grow longer than a half-inch.
Drizzle, you do not faze Little Big Man. The rest of us cringe and dart. But his back is straight, and when water hits his face, he looks skyward, curious.
Tammy, your remnants gently drip from the trees, soaking the patio furniture cushions, washing the last of the bird poop off the hood of the car. Too late is your moisture for the tomatoes, but the carrots, the carrots will use it to grow longer than a half-inch.
Drizzle, you do not faze Little Big Man. The rest of us cringe and dart. But his back is straight, and when water hits his face, he looks skyward, curious.
