This morning I sit looking out my window watching a collection of raindrops just hanging on there, going nowhere while a few of their more ambitious brothers rush down the window pane gathering those they bump into so they can grow larger and run faster. This sounds something like an allegory, doesn't it? Most things in nature can be molded into allegory by those of us who sometimes (or often) write poems or stories. That's one of our delights that we are happy to share with others.
January is an interim month in the way my life runs these days, between semesters at the Academy for Lifelong Learning. I have more time than usual to stare at rainy window panes and watch the raindrops. I've written only one poem so far this month but two short stories so I'm not wasting my time. And I'm making two quilts and finished one started on December. I'm not hanging out on the sand like those little shells just waiting to be washed back in by the next tide. Actually every rainy window pane is the next tide; so are sunrises and LLBs (little brown birds) that hop around on the shrubs outside the window.
No apologies for contemplating the raindrops and leaving the allegory up to you. But the thought that started this post was about waiting for snow, wondering what the next six weeks will bring. No matter how good the climatologists and meteorologists get, we won't know what's going to fall out of the sky until it does -- I'm okay with that.
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