A summer rain moment in the quiet life

The most relaxing few moments occurred yesterday. They were brief but so relaxing I am still thinking of them.

There’s something special about Sundays, aside from the great worship at church. Sunday afternoons are (or should be) lazy, relaxing, homey times. I’m lucky enough to have a nice home, clean and safe. Attractive too. My bedroom has a large 4-poster bed (an antique) and matching desk and bureau. I have an antique trunk to the side underneath a quilt displayed on the wall. With the Victorian eggshell walls, and two windows and high ceiling, it is a charming room. The bed is placed between the two windows and its height comes exactly to the windowsill, so if I lie on my side I can look straight out the window with my nose practically pressed against the fortified screen. Incidentally, the white ribbon on the floor is a cat toy. They drag it around.

Sunday afternoon I lay on the bed, reading a turn-of-the-century London detective novel. My cat was curled up next to my stomach, purring softly. The sky had darkened and the breeze, wispy as it was, cooled my face. I heard a drop or two on the metal awning, then more, and then pitter pat steadily. I noticed the rain came down gently, as is its wont in summer. The yard oaks swayed in the wind and the rain was just visible enough to see streams falling to the receiving grass. The only sounds were the patter on the awnings, the leaves shaking, and the car purring. It was a glorious moment. Refreshing, relaxing, perfect. How many perfect moments does a person get in this life? Not many I don’t think. I savor that one…

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