It’s Raining in Baltimore plays in my mind, becoming one with the sound of the persistent rain that has fallen since lunch time.

Hot coffee with home made cinnamon syrup, and a warmed croissant.

A pile of trashy fiction and some health books rented from the City Library.

Being cooked for, because I’ve hurt my finger and I’m not supposed to get the bandage wet.

Street lamps lighting up the rain drops on the windows, as though someone had taken a tube of golden glitter and thrown it at the glass.

Wishing for chocolate, but knowing I’ve had enough for the day, and that the only reason I want it is because it feels good when it melts over my tongue as bad weather prevails. It’s been so long since Summer, that the Winter indulgences and comforts have become a daily habit, as though life were reliant upon them. I can’t remember truly wanting an ice cold drink since we moved here. Creamy hot coffee all the way.

I make the mistake of referencing last summer as being last year, a nod to my northern roots. In fact, it only ended six months ago. The signs of Spring are around. The tree by our bedroom window has gone from leaves budding, to leaves once more providing privacy between us and the neighbours. But the sky stays grey. The rain falls as though the clouds haven’t moved and were 200 feet thick when they arrived last March and are not yet down to the last 2 feet. There are no gaps. The wind is not up tonight though, I note.

For now, I choose to be grateful for homemade cinnamon syrup that we stir into our coffee, to rich it up a little. For a movie so good I watch it twice over in one day, one time with the Director’s commentary making it that little more intimate. For a big bag of grapes to munch on, to keep me away from rustling the waxy paper the wedges of fudge are contained in. I choose to be grateful also, for things on the horizon. For the November subscription magazines to start arriving in my mailbox. For more time away from work. For help with the motivation to write. To actually be writing. And to dream.