The streets are sopping, and a man is walking very slowly, behind his leash, behind his bulldog. I want to open the window and yell, "Hurry up, you'll get wet!" Instead, I sit here in my office--the window bolted shut--and watch as they make their way down the avenue, so slowly, I think, but when I look up again, they're already gone.
I love the rain. It's poet weather.
ReplyDeleteI like walking slow...meandering, wandering, whatever you want to call it...it's a Southern thing...
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