The wind is whipping the rain against my window, and it seems to come in waves.
As we do most Septembers, we are dealing with the remnants of a hurricane that has come up the Eastern Seaboard of the United States, hit the colder waters of the North Atlantic, and become a post-tropical mess, sending its wind and water all over the Maritimes. Teddy is no different, and Nova Scotia is bearing the worst of it.
I like listening to the weather outside while I’m cozy inside, curled up on the bed with my dog and at least one cat, a cup of tea, and a book. (I would put the Fireplace Channel on TV, like I do for snowstorms, but ‘tis not yet the season, regardless of what the aisles in the stores would have you believe.)
In the next room, I can hear my husband playing a video came. A second cat has just come to join me, and I notice that somehow the jar of peanut-butter-filled pretzels is now empty. (As the only one in the room with opposable thumbs, I am baffled.)
Time has broken, as a fellow writer said this evening, and I would add that it has also folded itself up, accordion-style. Because I certainly can’t sense that those months were ever there at all.