Because it doesn’t usually rain here, my windows are rarely touched by the unique light that only comes filtered through droplets. I do miss it. When I lived in New England, I liked to go to the library and write short stories while it rained outside. The library I went to had big, yawning windows that offered beautiful tableaux of dripping moss, leaves, and gray sky.

I’ve never actually found any of those stories again, come to think of it. I wonder where I put them.

{source: Amy DiLorenzo, getty images}


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