There’s so much I miss about England. I even miss the rain.
Not the sideways rain that turns your umbrella inside-out, but the gentle rain
that gives the day a soft, melancholy quality. As if the weather’s telling you nothing
on your to-do list is that important. You may as well fix a warm drink, put
your feet up and open a good book. My life had a slower pace in Yorkshire than
in Utah. My reading lamp and chair saw more of me than they do now. I don’t
feel there’s much I can do to change that, any more than I can change the
weather. There’s something I CAN do, though, and I’ve been doing it for a few
minutes nearly every afternoon. I’m pulling dandelions in my yard and inserting
crocus bulbs where their roots were. Maybe next spring the little purple blooms
will remind me to slow down; whether or not it’s raining.
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