Drip, drip.

It's a dreary day in Chicago. Overlooking the city, Buckingham fountain, and Lake Michigan from my favorite spot in RU's library, everywhere I look it is wet, wet, wet. 

Walking to school, I was annoyed. My umbrella turned inside-out, people were taking up too much room on the sidewalk. I was cold and I didn't wear rainy-day shoes. 

But now, in the soft, golden glow of the library, warm and dry, I feel better. I feel like writing. I have a creative nonfiction piece simmering in my head, in my fingertips, about fathers and daughters and about crying. Looking outside, I know that today is the day I should start that piece. 

---

My blitz for the day:

Rain

[Raymond Carver]

Woke up this morning with

a terrific urge to lie in bed all day

and read. Fought against it for a minute.

Then looked out the window at the rain.

And gave over. Put myself entirely

in the keep of this rainy morning.

Would I live my life over again?

Make the same unforgivable mistakes?

Yes, given half a chance. Yes.

L. Stacks