drizzle drizzle drizzle...

a storm has welled up overhead but is managing to hold itself together. the clouds are low and dark, turning from pale grey to slate, heavy over my little corner, sprinkles on the glass. it should undo itself this afternoon, says the forecast, says the neighbors. little little inga and i are curled up safe inside. she is dreaming in the big red chair, kicking out her little deer-like legs, snoring delicately, and small soft covetous barks. the heater is on. we are warm. i have my hooks and yarn to twist. the oil will wait today. the camera won't find good light to click in. i am happy anyway and words and words and words. my lover snuggled me awake. he snuggled me in his sleep. i brought him coffee in the shower and we laughed at ourselves all morning. i am happy. and the words are coming back. words and words and words.