... falling on my head

Incessant massive rain.

So a shot of a mournful looking whippet? I led him big-eyed to the open front door and we contemplated a dash. But he loathes the rain and his legs had already begun to quiver, the wimpit he is.

Have long been transfixed by drops, be they dew drops, rain drops or tear drops.
It seems to me that each one contains a world; perhaps it's the reflections.

I remember, as a child, the cool edge of a teaspoon against my cheek, as my grandmother caught my tears, and then "swallow the sadness away" she'd say, as the salty drops slid down my throat.


Thank you everyone for your generous and kind words yesterday.