Tuesday, September 19, 2017
My unbridled optimism
All morning, with my walking commute looming, the clouds grow darker. I need more lights on in the house at nine in the morning than I needed when I awoke. A strange rumbling shakes the sky. It's probably just planes. Lots and lots of planes. Planes with deep, ominous voices.
I look out the upstairs windows and see a squirrel hunkered down in our oak tree. His bushy tail is bent back over him like some desperate awning. That squirrel is going to get wet. And he knows it. And he doesn't like it.
I, however, will be fine. I have a hat.